That's Fit

Tomorrow is the New York City Marathon. Tomorrow is the day I knew was coming for a while now, and one I've for which I've been trying to prepare myself.

Unlike approximately 38,000 others, including my husband, I will not be running in the marathon. Instead I will remain with our seven month old son and perhaps scoot on down to the avenue in Brooklyn where all the runners travel.

Most of this was my choice. Actually, ultimately it was my choice. At some point along the way training for the marathon became too much. I had a new job and a new baby and my sense of family was being thrown askew with every additional minute I was out of the house. In addition to that, after I hit nearly fifteen miles at a pop I realized I didn't have it in me to do more.

Perhaps if I'd not just had a baby or not been breastfeeding and so focused on my new family I would have done better, tried harder, etc. There were times when I was so tired I couldn't go any further, times when stomach cramps frustrated and stopped me dead in my tracks.

Then there were the real breakthroughs: I was back to running thirteen miles, the half-marathon distance (13.1 miles to be exact) within two months of starting to run again. Prior to my pregnancy it had taken me nearly thirty years to get up to that; the weight that I gained during my pregnancy, all the while eating healthfully and power-walking to keep in shape, melted off. For the first time in my life I had the lung power and stamina to do nothing but hills--and enjoyed it.

I had the opportunity, when I was running, for a little alone time, a little me time. This was time impossible to have at home with a new baby and husband or at the new job, which was fabulous but something to work through.

I had the time to enjoy the park without being distracted by the wonderful conversations I used to have when running with my husband, my former ultimate running partner. I could go at my own speed and in my own rhythm without having to clear it with anyone else or see if it fit into their running schedule/

I also got a lot of time to think. On whatever I wanted. Running gave me back my spirituality by giving me the time and space to let go and just travel with my thoughts wherever they ended up taking me. Sometimes they took me around the park three or four times.

Sometimes the thoughts were too much to bear and I headed back to the house early, full of guilt for having left my new son without his mommy. The house was a disaster and the laundry never seemed to be done, and here I was off on my own counting all the different logos and slogans on other runners' t-shirts.

All these experiences came to me because I set a goal for myself. it was one I never really expected to reach--but look at how far I got with it! If I hadn't trained for the marathon I wouldn't be referring to a ten-miler as an easy run. I wouldn't cherish every single minute I have with my baby because I wouldn't have had some time to myself. I wouldn't be able to fit into my running and other clothes and feel truly healthy.

And happy. I feel happy. Despite all the madness, and the frustration over how easy my husband had it--all he had to do was run; he didn't have to breastfeed every two to three hours or run with an extra twenty pounds on him; he wasn't starting from a base of zero miles per week with a less-than-optimal amount of training time--I can't say that I regret a minute of it.

The truth is that there will always be something to keep us from reaching our goals. Sometimes the goals we set are too high. Sometimes they are just high enough. My husband asked me today if I wanted him to roll over my registration for the marathon to next year. I declined.

Sure I could go through the whole process again, spend all my time scheduled to the hilt with what I could and couldn't eat and how often and far I had to run, eating one of those Cliff Shots every lap of the park when all I really wanted was pancakes, confusing Gatorade with nectar of the gods after barely managing to pull myself through a third lap in the middle of a brutal August.

Sure I could do all that. I could also reap all the rewards that came with it--getting those pancakes (blueberry) and not feeling an ounce of guilt about eating all of them; running fourteen miles with nothing but me and my iPod. Coming home to a baby who turns as soon as he hears my voice and smiles when he sees me, demanding to be held by me even though I SMELL BAD.

Instead I think I'll enjoy the cooler weather with a nice ten miler. I think I'll keep my life schedule free as far as running goes. I think I'll buy a jogging stroller and take the little man with me. Why not--he goes everywhere else I do! I think I'll also make sure to get at least one or two runs by myself tucked in each week, for my own sanity.

Maybe some day I will run a marathon. When all the babies are raised and there's nothing else to worry about except how I'm going to keep down all those Cliff Shots I may consider it. But it was never my dream. Being a mother was. Being a runner was. Or should I say "is"? Being both is a goal in itself, and for me, today, the day before the marathon, being both is a reality.