Running

Katherine Lynch There is nothing better than the feeling of walking into my garage, sweat dripping down the side of my cheeks, my heart pounding after a long, tiring run. I crave the aching in my calves and thighs that can only come from running up a steep hill; the feeling of muscles building up for the next challenge. It was the love of the hard work rewarded with satisfaction that pushed me to train for a half marathon. Running has always been a passion, and taught me that although something may not always be enjoyable while doing it, the feeling of knowing you worked hard is rewarding enough to make it all worth while. Often, before running, there is a lot of picturing my route, envisioning the movement of my arms and legs, sometimes even practicing my breathing. Thinking about it is much easier than doing it. I know I love it, and I know I love the feeling after even more but sometimes it is just so hard to get out of the door, because I know my body would much rather keep sleeping or sit and watch a movie rather than run. Race day was coming and my body knew it. Every time I pictured standing on the starting line my stomach would tighten into a thousand knots. I was scared of the long practice runs, because I was scared that I would be too tired to finish, which would make me even more nervous than I already was for race day. The morning of the race I woke up every twenty minutes, ecstatic because I had dreamed I had already run the race, until the realization would hit that in face I was still in bed, and would again drift back into a restless sleep. The hours leading up to a race can be treacherous. The waiting and the nerves sometimes became too much to handle, but nothing I seemed to do seemed to distract me enough. The hours until one o’clock seemed to move by impossibly slowly. Fast forward to standing on the starting line, this time I am not dreaming, this is the moment I have worked for. As the gun goes off, everyone starts jogging forward slowly. As the pace picks up, the adrenaline kicks in and my legs move faster than usual, maybe too fast as I know that going too hard in the beginning can make the end harder. But today I don’t care, today is race day. Today my motto is go until I can’t go anymore, because I’m never as tired as I think I am. My body soon starts to ache as my heart catches up to the speed at which my legs are moving. My breathing and my legs move into a comfortable rhythm and pace, well not necessarily comfortable but it will have to do. Today is race day. As the miles grow higher my mind flashes back to the months of training it took to get here. Each training run was a mental battle. While training, I was not running for my usual reasons of relaxation and finding mental serenity. Training runs involved hills and speed intervals that took much mental convincing that I indeed could reach the top of the hill and that I indeed could move my legs faster than usual. Training took months of convincing myself that if I pushed my limits I could continue to grow, which, when I crossed the finish line, I learned I should apply the same motto to many other aspects of my life. There was one training run in particular that I will always remember. Heading out the door, the sky was already starting to darken. As I ran down my driveway, the wind whipped my cheeks and I felt as though I had already developed frost bite on my nose. The sound of my feet against the crunching snow was the only thing I could hear. With each mile came more darkness. As I reached nine miles, I passed my farthest distance yet. As if the Gods knew I was already facing the challenge of the two mile climb back to my house, the snow falling quickly hastened to a blizzard. My breathing became heavy and loud and my calves were burning. Each step seemed to be my last but my mind forced me to continue running. “I can do this, I must do this,” I thought to myself. Sprinting back up my driveway in the pitch black in the middle of a December blizzard was the most accomplished I have ever felt. Running has taught me that success and feeling truly accomplished takes hard work. Nothing is handed to you on a silver platter. I would never have been able to cross the finish line had I not endured the months of training. But in the end, it is all worth it.