That's Fit

As people, and later, as parents, we set many goals for ourselves throughout our lives. Many of these goals are met and subsequently replaced by newer, often grander goals. We enjoy challenge in our lives--it makes us faster, stronger, smarter--kind of like the bionic woman.

But sometimes, every so often, a goal takes on a life of its own. Sometimes it becomes too large and looms out there in front of us as the golden carrot we will never reach. These goals become so enormous and encompassing (especially as we use all our energy to strive to meet them) that everything else gets left in the shadow of that giant goal.

And most of the time it's those smaller things, and the smaller goals, that are just as if not more important than the big goal.

When I first decided to run the New York City Marathon it was really for no good reason. I'd never wanted to run it in the past. I never had that strong desire that haunted my dreams. I enjoyed running, liked being fit, that kind of thing. But never once did I say my dream was to run a marathon, let alone the biggee in NYC.

Then through sheer luck I managed to land one of the coveted spots on the roster. The romantic in me thought it was a sign that I should run--after all no one else who'd signed up for the lottery with me (all of whom were desperate to run it) got in.

I started training in earnest. Then I got pregnant. Then I stopped training. We all know the story. Now more than a year later I'm back to running half marathons. In fact, despite the fact that I have a new job and a new baby (well, he's six months old now, but that is still pretty new in my book!) I can actually run longer than I've ever been able to in my entire life.

Now that is saying something. Actually, it's a huge thing for me as I was one of those pudgy kids who watched too much television and didn't get outside enough. I could barely run a quarter of a mile. Now, look at me. I've lost most of my pregnancy weight and am possibly fitter than I was pre-pregnancy.

I can run fourteen to fifteen miles at a pop. The giant goal looming in front of me says, well, so? That's not a marathon. A marathon is 26.1 miles, to be exact. You're nowhere near that.

Then I feel bad and guilty and as though all my very hard work hasn't really paid off. And I've got news for everyone: I'm not going to be able to run this marathon. I just don't have the time or the energy with everything else going in my very full life.

I love my life exactly the way that it is, and wouldn't change my circumstance for the world. Yet this marathon thing is driving me crazy. With less than a month to go and only being able to run fifteen miles at a time I don't think I am going to be able to manage much more.

The recovery from training alone is killing me. I get so dehydrated and tired and all I want to do is sleep. Yet my husband is also training for the marathon so I need to take into account his running schedule. And I have to take care of the baby. This is a pleasurable task but a difficult one when I don't feel good.

Then there is the writing and the new job and trying to keep our house clean and the pets and my social life, which has already taken a toll thanks to the onset of parenthood and everyone I know leaving town because they can't afford to live here now that they're parents too.

In other words, the distance is catching up with me. I can feel those extra miles--the ones I have yet to cover--plodding along behind me like the runner I least expect to pass me on a big hill. They're coming for me, those miles, and I'm not sure what my fate will be when they catch me.

I haven't given up, yet. I don't really do that. I tend to see things through to the end whenever possible. That said, there is a difference between giving up and giving in. I'm feeling more like the latter.

I want to spend as much time as possible with my child--he's only going to be young once. I want to do my job as well as I can--that means being rested and healthy and able to focus. And I want to keep running--while it's challenging and fun and makes me fit, not when it becomes something I have to do that scatters all my other goals like leaves in the wind.

Although I've never said as much, I've decided to see just how far I can get. Rather than making the goal 26.1 miles my new goal is to see just what kind of distance I have in me. I have a feeling it's somewhere around fifteen or sixteen miles. We'll see. Maybe it's as high as twenty.

Either way, it's a more realistic goal. And who knows--in a month you might yet see me at the starting line for the New York City Marathon. You never know.