It has taken me a minute to actually write this down. It has actually taken a moment for it to sink in (which it still hasn’t just yet). On October 11, 2015 I will be running (or crawling…whatever) 26.2 miles through Chicago (or as The Boy likes to say Chiraq). I get butterflies just thinking about it.
I applied for the Chicago Marathon lottery on a whim. Who ever really gets picked for that anyway? Well, obviously people do or else there wouldn’t be a race, but you know what I mean: I would never get picked for that anyway. But…I did.
Because I got picked (Brooklyn did too btw), I certainly cannot turn it down. Why would anyone do that? It is the Chicago Marathon after all. From what I heard it is a great first marathon, it is a beautiful run and it’s Chicago. I have never been there. I get to experience something new.
So, I paid for the registration, bought a plane ticket, booked a hotel and started marathon training via Nike+ on Tuesday. Will I make it? I dunno. I’m damn sure gonna try though. Why not? Besides, I also have the Rock n’ Roll Savannah Marathon in November and the Peachtree in July so I have to start seriously training anyway. Might as well throw another race on the barbee.
Hi, I am Sadie, and I am running the 2015 Chicago Marathon. Yes…on purpose. Yes that is 26.2 miles. Yes…I think I am a little crazy 😛
I have probably told this story 90 million times, but for those who do not know I was pretty fat (293 lbs to be exact) for my height and I needed to get rid of it. I had tried everything on this side of the sun and figured the only thing that would get me moving in the right direction was to challenge myself with something way outside of Zone Comfort. So…I did. I decided to run.
I got picked for the Peachtree Road Race that year. I trained. I ran. I wobbled for two days. I ran the following year and the year after that. The third year was the most emotional year. During this time The Marriage was in undeniable trouble and my life was coming apart at the seems. That year, I ran the entire 6.2 miles and Cardiac Hill (killer hill at mile 3). I ran to the finish line with Kay who pushed us and when I crossed I broke down. If I could have laid in the road and wept I would have. I was happy because I had beat myself and won, yet I was sad because I knew that at that moment everything had changed. The Spirit never lies.
The next year I didn’t get in and I didn’t really care to run either. I was sad and angry and I did not have the energy, nor the respect, for the process of running the Peachtree. But oh what a difference a year makes. This year I am celebrating my new found independence the only way I know how. Running. Running my race.
When the email came through congratulating me on making it in, I leaped out of bed and squealed with joy. I get to celebrate independent Me from where it all began. I get to do this not to prove someone wrong or to lose myself. I get to do this on my terms, for my reasons and be present for it all. When I cross the finish line this year, I cannot guarantee I won’t break down again, but I can be sure of one thing: nothing will be the same. I can’t wait to see the amazing things in store.
It is cool how Life works. It is even more astounding how the Universe rises up to meet you where you stand. This phase of my life is about celebration and enjoyment and pacing and exploring. I cannot possibly see tipping my hat to this phase in a more fun, liberating way.
After an argument with The He one Saturday afternoon, I began to experience a myriad of feelings…none of which were good. More and more these days, when I feel engulfed in those emotions of raw anger, bitterness, sadness and temper tantrum I often feel as if I am drowning…literally. Breath becomes shallow or non existent and I feel panicky. Trapped by water on all sides and there’s no way out. Except……maybe one.
In school, I hated running. In middle school particularly. Every Monday we would slip into our black shorts and gray tees and take it to the track. Four laps equaled a mile….and a straw. The objective was to get (4) straws. I usually got (2). I hated running. Fast forward to the glorious days of short skirts, go-go boots, and flag poles. We had to run and I hated that too. Super fast forward to September 2010 when my spirit was ill and apparently my marriage was too. I decided to step outside of normal and take on a challenge in which I could only make waves. I was going to run.
Running soon became that thing. You know, that thing you do when the world is closing in? It shuts the world out and turns the volume down. It creates a space no one else can enter, even if there are hundreds of people around. It’s….that thing.
Running is that thing for me. So often I feel panicky and breathless and so often I picture myself pounding the pavement. On Saturday, I did just that. I pictured myself running. Running far. Running steady. Running….away.
When I vented to Trinidad about the argument (which I sorta can’t remember now), we began talking about what made us feel stronger, calmer, capable, confident. Running does it all for me. I suffer from sadness–a pretty deep sadness on most days–but when I run…it lifts. The clouds part and the world is right again. I can see why people become addicted. I can see why people spend hours and money to do something that takes it’s toll on the body later. It’s that thing. It’s that thing to grab for…to fall for…to chase….