The Road to Savannah: In the Beginning

I remember the first time I joined a running group, and that first day we ran a timed mile. This was to figure out our paces, place us in groups and ultimately help to track our progress. I remember training for that day. For a mile. I remember being scared of it, what if I can’t run a mile? Will they kick me out? This first run with that running group sticks out in my mind to perfectly portray the anxiety and doubt and fear that I had about running. I trained for a mile, because I was unsure if I could finish it.

I don’t know when I started running, really.  It was in Texas for sure.  And I would run sporadically, randomly, without any knowledge or purpose or expectations. In writing this post I saw an email I sent to a friend in September of 2007, where I said I had “just started running distances” and went on to further say that I could “probably finish 3 miles, but not 5!” This was where my distance running started, my dreaded 3-mile slump. What little I knew about myself and running back then!

Early one morning, in February 2008, I went downtown to watch RO’D running in the Austin half. And it was amazing. The crowds, the runners, the strength and determination. I went home and I ran a few miles, totally inspired. And then, I forgot how it had felt that race day, and went back to my half-assed uninformed occasional running. It was sometime in 2008 that Ryan and I decided we were going to run the San Antonio rock and roll half marathon in November of that year. I downloaded a training plan, and I stared at numbers of 6, 7, 8, 10 miles. Holy holy holy crap.  And I put that training plan away. And I found a running group.

What’s so special about Savannah, and why is the road leading there?  It’s true, nothing really.  It’s not my last race of the year, it’s not my first marathon, it’s not a particularly challenging race or significant date, it hasn’t been a life goal of mine. Truth is, I signed up for the marathon in Savannah one night after having one too many Resurrections at a Brewer’s Art happy hour. I signed up for Savannah a mere week after telling someone in an email that I “may never run another marathon, that may not be my distance.”  Savannah will be my second full marathon this year, and only my third ever. That girl who started distance running with 3 but not 5 miles, she never wanted to run a marathon. She was content with the challenge that 13.1 miles posed, and she was content doing that only once in a while. She never wanted more. Until, the day she wondered if she could.

Cue the push to sign up for the Baltimore Marathon with NDH and VK for October 2011. At that point I had finished 3 (4?) half marathons, 4 10Ks, a few team triathlons, a mud run, and one Ragnar series relay race. I signed up for my first marathon with an overwhelming sense of dread and fear, and curiosity – could I even do this? I ran my first marathon to see if I could. And by some accounts, I did run it. It was slow, and painful. My goal was to finish, and I did. I felt proud and happy. But I didn’t necessarily feel I had done “my best” – there were many times I felt close to giving up, and worse there were times that I felt giving up would have been ok. I (eventually) wondered if I could do it better. Cue signing up for the Country Music Marathon in 2013 with NDH. Nashville was going to be different.  I was still scared, but of different things. I could finish – but could I finish well? Unfortunately, the ending of my Nashville race still plagues me to this day. I’m not talking about the time (I rarely do). But, I was so beat down by the end of that race. Not only had I lost confidence in my ability to run, I had convinced myself I was bad at it, by mile 26 I had convinced myself I was bad at most things in life. I still feel embarrassed when I think about sitting on the sidewalk alone, chocolate milk container spilled all over me, cold beer in my water-wrinkled hands, shivering from the cold that comes from being soggy wet for 7 hours, crying. Crying because my brain had told me that I had done so badly, and I believed it. I hate my brain for ruining that day for me. The truth about Nashville is I ran a 20-minute PR marathon through such torrential downpours that most people I know (save for the thousands of people who ran it) probably wouldn’t have started.  Moreover, I was on pace for an even bigger PR for much of that race. It was a proud accomplishment, but there I was crying over spilt milk and bruised egos.

I signed up for my third marathon, not to see if I could do it, and not to see if I could do it better, but I signed up for my 3^rd marathon to be better. Turns out, that girl who started running at 3 but not 5 miles, she’s learned something about herself and running. She’s a little bit stronger, even on her weakest days.

*If anything, this song reminds me of myself more than any one specific person, as I am often my own worst enemy - particularly the part about being tired of spinning my wheels. Particularly that part!