Hey Athletes:
As an athlete, you know how important practice is. Without practice, you’d never be ready to compete at your very best during game time. That’s why I spent four months practicing for my first marathon by running mile after mile after mile.
Even after all that practice, though, I was still scared I wouldn’t be able to finish the marathon on race day because I had never competed in any kind of race before. (Last week I told you about the scary nightmares I had for several nights before the race.)
So when it came time to step up to the starting line the morning of the race, I was still scared. Strangely enough, however, that fear slowly went away as I started actually running the marathon.
My parents waved me on at mile two and mile four. I knew I wouldn’t see them again until the halfway point, so I smiled, waved and kept going, counting down the miles.
Each time I passed a mile-marker, I was more motivated to find the next one. But as much as I loved watching the numbers grow, I looked forward to the water stations the most. (The water stations were set up every two miles along the course.) I gulped a cup of water or All Sport at each one. The urge to hug the volunteers handing me the fabulous liquids grew stronger with each station.
I reached mile 13.1 faster than I expected to. My breathing was normal. My pace was steady. And I only had half the original distance ahead of me. The race was going better than I could have ever imagined. Even if I took a little longer to run the second half, I’d still finish in my goal of four hours and thirty minutes. I’d even be able to sprint the final stretch like I had always dreamed of doing.
For an added boost of confidence, I spotted my parents in the crowd and waved. They waved back, and I kept running with only 13.1 miles to go.
What I didn’t know was that the real challenges were about to begin.
At mile 15, my feet started complaining. Then both my knees started to hurt. My muscles didn’t want to be left out and started doing some complaining of their own.
I was sore. I was tired. I was ready to quit. Especially when I didn’t see the mile-marker for mile 16 where I thought it was supposed to be. I figured my pace had gotten super duper slow and that I would never be able to make it to the finish line. Until I finally saw the marker for mile 17. (I somehow missed the 16 mark altogether.)
I was so happy to see the number 17 on that sign that tears of joy filled my eyes. I was making progress after all. Slowly and painfully, I was making progress.
The pain, torture and agony stuck with me throughout the next six miles. Up hills. Down hills. Around curves. Through grass. I was starting to believe that even if that finish line did really exist, I was now running way to slow to ever find it.
And sprinting the final stretch? What a fantasy. I was going to be thrilled just to be able to cross the finish line on my hands and knees.
Suddenly, 23 appeared on a sign beside the road. The war between my muscles to decide what part of me hurt the most quieted knowing I only had three miles left.
Then two.
Then one.
I was almost done.
More people lined the streets the closer I got to the finish line. They clapped and yelled and cheered. They still thought I was a runner. Maybe they were right. Maybe I’d prove it.
As I closed in on the finish, my feet and knees and muscles banded together for one last burst. I passed other weary runners.
The crowd noticed.
They called out my number.
I sprinted faster.
The finish came in to view.
A few more yards.
A few more feet.
Done.
I was done.
I finished a marathon.
It took me four hours and thirty-one minutes, but I was done. I just made a dream I once believed impossible come true because I kept going even though I was scared, doubted myself and just plain hurt the last half of the race.
When it comes to living your dreams “on the field” or off, you simply need to keep going. That’s how you reveal the CHAMPION in you.
To your sports dreams,
Bonnie Jean
