Revelation

The past week's runs were manic. The first 5-mile short run went fairly well although I couldn't sway the rising sense of dread for the rest of the week. The 10-mile was, in a word, devastating; I stopped, I ached, and by the end my inner voice was chiming "What are you doing? This is totally insane." My third short-run of 5-miles went ok although the voice continued its chant, adding "You will never be able to do this!" to its mantra.

Facing the daunting longest long run of the training (20miles), I resolved to put it out of my mind until I absolutely had to. As Friday was a scheduled rest day, this came easy. I emptied my mind of thoughts having to do with running or the marathon. I went about my daily business as casually and nonchalantly as I could.

This steadfast emptiness carried me through the night and at 5:45am on Saturday, I woke to my alarm without hesitation, met up with Carrie, and without much discussion, we started. So far, so good. I had intimated to Carrie I wanted to take it easy, relaying some of my anxieties from earlier in the week. She agreed. Nice and easy.

As we began the run, I noticed the voice's apparent silence. This was, in part, due to Carrie's presence. We chatted about our week, current events, and our rising concern and disdain for a certain Alaskan governor.

Typically, when I do long runs, I imagine the miles ahead and the miles behind, coercing the voice to chant lines such as "I can do this. Only X miles to go. Focus on the end," etc. Sometimes this works, other times its burdensome.

It was then, as my conversation with Carrie began to dwindle, that I invoked a new perspective, focusing my attention on the present moment. Immediately, the voice returned although this time with a change in tone. "I can do this" became "I am doing this". "Only X miles to go" and "Focus on the end" became simply "I am running. I am running. I am running." Then, as if by magic, time seemed to stand still.

I am running.
I am doing this.
I am running.

At the 17 mi marker, I felt a surge of energy course through my body, and my pace instinctively increased.

I am running.
I am doing this.
I am running.

It's difficult to articulate in writing how I felt during those remaining three miles. What I recall can perhaps be described as a feeling of "deep warmth". I might also use the word "weightlessness." Towards the end, a distinct "buzz" of some kind seemed to encapsulate my entire body, especially around my head. It reminded me of the release I feel when a migraine finally dissipates: goose-bumpy, exalting relief.

Whether or not this was in truth the so-called "runner's high", I dare not speculate. Such terminology seems at times to minimize the actual momentary experience. I am however fond of the word "revelation" as it wondrously combines the words "revel" and "elation," as in "I revel in my elation."

Needless to say, I am aware that I've turned a corner in my training. I am running. I am doing this.