Musing marathon miles

Boy, am I in for one helluva ride.

If you’d told last September me that I’d be signed up for a 26.2 mile long journey and that the most fulfilled version of me would awaken with dawn’s first light at 5am wakes, that weeks of pavement pounding and hundreds of relentless breakfast, lunch and dinner miles would weave into nearly every golden thread of my life’s babushka scarf of principles, I’d simply have stared back at you incredulously.

Today, I look back in fear. Not that of the unknowns that lay ahead, but with that of veneration for the throbbing heart replaced by an orb of light foreshadowing the possibilities. The possibilities of peace, and courage that would unfold into unbridled joys with every disciplined step of long-distance running.

To endure, to run long, is to love. A delicate dance, a rhythm set to the heartbeat of discomfort and the gentle cadence of patience, each footfall stoked by the embers of pain but rooted in the highest love — that of the self. Every so often, an uphill climb or a foray off the beaten trail navigates through the ever-changing landscapes around in pursuit of a promise. One that is fueled by grit and fulfilled for a personal glory that reaps confidence all while an angelic harp plays an ode to the spirit of resilience in the background.

Maybe it’s just the runner’s high pouring out as a profession of my profound love for this sport. For I’ve been running through the sunrises, sunsets, and the dark of the nights but I only see daylight. Sappy isn’t my usual genre but what do you do but turn to art when something’s life-changing?

And with a final embroidered stitch of a golden thread of gratitude — to all who introduced me to, shared some miles with, or even asked, ‘Hey! Did you run today?’, I simply can’t wait to see and celebrate having my breath, quite literally, be taken away on race day.

As Frost would’ve said, I’ve miles to go so I must sleep.