Though I have always taken pleasure in the pursuit of sport, the reality of running has always seemed a punishment to me; more a means to an end than an activity in and of itself.
But this past January, after my stepfather's death on my birthday the previous fall and the unchecked emotional eating and drinking that followed, I decided drastic measures were necessary. Fed up with my physical and mental fog, faced with the rapidly approaching landmark of turning 40 and a closet crammed with uncomfortable clothes, I made up my mind to start training for a half marathon.
The drudgery of setting out in the freezing temperatures, running 10 seconds at a time, walking for another 50 then repeat, was difficult at best. I kept at it. Then, somewhere in the muddle of winter gray as I continued to exhale fear, frustration and deep sadness in a steady mist, a subtle shift began to take hold.
I started to enjoy this: how satisfying it felt to cross off another square on my training log; how surprised I was the first time I ran for four minutes straight; how my sweat-stained clothes became less another pile of laundry and more a badge of pride; how my sleepy eyes now witnessed sunrises that had never before existed for me; how I could gaze up at the huge Nevada sky on nighttime runs and know I was keeping company with constellations; how the swell of breath in my lungs opened my body and encouraged it to expand into its own power; how I discovered grace and presence of thought in the precious time I called my own; how I learned to move through the initial pain knowing there was something more for me on the other side; how running became no longer a means to an end, it morphed into my freedom.
The culmination of all this effort was the Lake Tahoe Half Marathon, which I ran last Sunday.
This was my first road race. The majority of my training was done alone and it was exciting to be surrounded by so many other runners. Once I fell into a rhythm, I found I would see the same folks who had a similar pace as me. That lent a sense of camaraderie to the challenge.
The course ran south along Highway 89 and wound around Emerald Bay. Those familiar with this route know of the numerous ascents in that area. Steep by car, yes. When running, they seemed almost vertical.
The elevation combined with the record-breaking heat added to the intensity. For me it was more effective to race-walk the steepest parts rather than try to run the climbs. I resumed my pace at the top.
As I ran, the breathtaking vistas of the lake kept me motivated. We live in such a gorgeous place. I enjoyed a pleasant conversation with a woman who traveled all the way from Kansas City with her whole family just to participate. Here I was, right in my own backyard.
Each descent was a welcome relief, and when we diverted off the road onto the path that meanders along the highway I knew the finish was near. The course ended at Pope Beach, which was lined with people cheering, hooting and hollering. How grateful I was to have my family and several friends there waiting for me. Their support and love are what carried me across the finish line.
Afterward, with the weight of my finisher's medal around my neck and soaking my tired legs in the lake, I realized something. This experience wasn't really about the half marathon. It was about the decision to start this adventure in the first place and the determination and commitment it took to follow this path. The destination, the race, was an achievement for sure, but the real reward was in the journey. So often I focus on the goal and miss the play. This experience helped me realize that the true bliss lies within.
Information on the Lake Tahoe marathon and on 2010 events at www.laketahoemarathon.com
Amy Roby can be reached at ranchosroundup@hotmail.com
