It seems like every other person I meet is heading to Fargo this weekend to run in the marathon. I love it!
I was supposed to run in the race this weekend, but that’s a different and not-that-interesting story. My heart will be with the runners - my family members who are coming from many states to compete and one brave friend in particular. Kathleen Wrigley had brain surgery last September that left her with significant and possibly permanent impairment in her sight.
Most people would spend time nursing their wounds and feeling sorry for themselves. Not Kathleen. She trained for the marathon, as she says, for one simple reason, “Because I can.”
People often say they could never run a marathon. Most are wrong. Some health or mechanical issues might be “game enders,” but watch a person with no legs wheel across the finish line and explain to me why you can’t do it.
It’s been 20 years since I ran a marathon. When I finished I told myself I would do it every decade as a commitment to staying strong. That was a good idea. Running a marathon is a powerful experience, one that benefits your mind more than your body. And it reinforces some of the most basic truths of life.
The biggest challenge isn’t finishing the 26.2-mile race – that’s the fun part. Training is the challenge. Logging hundreds of miles on a treadmill, track or pavement can be lonely, boring and painful. Your mind plays tricks on you. Halfway through you tell yourself it’s silly, too much, not worth the effort. A bad run fuels doubts about your ability to finish. More than once you want to quit.
The thousands of people who will complete the marathon this weekend worked through all of those challenges. It was hard and not much fun at times, but achieving a big, worthy goal never comes easy. Convenience doesn’t build character.
Tapering is a vital part about preparing for a marathon. With the hard training behind, runners spend the final weeks before the race storing up their energy. My friend Bob, who is running his first marathon on Saturday, told me last week, “I hate tapering. I feel so lazy.”
What an incredible statement about hard work. After running 18, 19, 22 miles at a time, a short run of 10-12 miles seems almost pitiful it’s so easy. Hard work changes the mindset of the human brain. After a while what was once impossible becomes second nature.
The training and tapering are vital, of course. Without investing in that, the marathon experience would be miserable. But for those who are ready, finishing the 26.2 miles will be easier than they expected.
Why is that? It’s the fans. People line the streets virtually the entire route of the Fargo marathon and that level of support and enthusiasm fuels every competitor more than the world’s best energy bar.
And isn’t that how life is? We work so hard and do our best, but when times are tough or we face a difficult challenge, it’s energy from others in the form of love and encouragement that gets us through.
The ultimate lesson of a marathon is that, regardless of whether you ever chose to run one, we are all much stronger than we imagine. Whether your goal is getting in shape, getting a degree or being a better parent, make a training plan, work harder than you think possible especially when you have setbacks or doubts, and accept the love and support of others who want to help you succeed.
Most of all, stick to it for one simple reason: Because you can.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Disney doesn't 'measure up' for Sam
I have vivid childhood memories for a family vacation I never took.
My parents, clearly under the influence of some kind of judgment-altering drugs, loaded all seven of their kids in a station wagon with bald tires and pulled a pop-up camper out to California for a month-long tour of the West Coast. The year was 1967 and I was “just a twinkle in their eyes,” as my dad always said.
I remember this trip as if I was there only because I had to watch and re-watch it on 8 mm home movies throughout my childhood. The two favorite clips featured my siblings riding the tea cups at Disneyland and a large hippo at a zoo relieving himself in a pond. We never tired of watching that bowel movement and played it over and over, forwards, backwards and in slow-motion.
I was indignant throughout my childhood that my parents took that trip without me. Looking back, I’m struck by the fact that this “trip not taken” even registers in my childhood memories. Of all the sacrifices my parents made and blessings I received as a result, why do I remember this?
It illustrates one of the most unjust aspects of parenting. We can work so hard and do so many things right, but ultimately we have no control over the things that our kids will most remember or be influenced by.
I’m remembering this because we recently returned from a family vacation at Disney World. It was a great trip, filled with “magical moments” and a few heaping helpings of whining, bickering and standing in line.
Despite our best efforts, I fear our son Sam might walk away with one overpowering memory of the trip: rejection. Just a few notches too short, Sam was left on the sidelines for most of the thrilling rides like Rockin’ Roller Coaster, Expedition Everest and Primeval Twist.
When asked to describe his favorite part of the first day, he replied with sarcasm far beyond his four years, “Oh yeah. I know. The part where I couldn’t ride any of the cool rides because I am too little.”
He was still taking the rejection hard at the end of the week. When he measured less than the necessary 42 inches for a log ride at Sea World, I argued with the gatekeeper that he had qualified all week for similar-sized rides at Disney. “Sorry lady. No exceptions,” he said flatly.
As we walked away, Sam hung his head, lifted his palms toward the sky and said, “What is this? Honey I shrunk the kids week?”
The trip required consultation and guidance from two massive “Doing Disney” manuals, the setting of a daily alarm and ridiculous outlays of cash. Yet, despite all of this planning and effort we can only hope that our kids will remember the happiest and most magical Disney moments rather than the fact that they were too little for the really fun stuff.
I guess justice is finally being served for the ill feelings I harbored so long over the family dream vacation I wasn’t born to see.
My parents, clearly under the influence of some kind of judgment-altering drugs, loaded all seven of their kids in a station wagon with bald tires and pulled a pop-up camper out to California for a month-long tour of the West Coast. The year was 1967 and I was “just a twinkle in their eyes,” as my dad always said.
I remember this trip as if I was there only because I had to watch and re-watch it on 8 mm home movies throughout my childhood. The two favorite clips featured my siblings riding the tea cups at Disneyland and a large hippo at a zoo relieving himself in a pond. We never tired of watching that bowel movement and played it over and over, forwards, backwards and in slow-motion.
I was indignant throughout my childhood that my parents took that trip without me. Looking back, I’m struck by the fact that this “trip not taken” even registers in my childhood memories. Of all the sacrifices my parents made and blessings I received as a result, why do I remember this?
It illustrates one of the most unjust aspects of parenting. We can work so hard and do so many things right, but ultimately we have no control over the things that our kids will most remember or be influenced by.
I’m remembering this because we recently returned from a family vacation at Disney World. It was a great trip, filled with “magical moments” and a few heaping helpings of whining, bickering and standing in line.
Despite our best efforts, I fear our son Sam might walk away with one overpowering memory of the trip: rejection. Just a few notches too short, Sam was left on the sidelines for most of the thrilling rides like Rockin’ Roller Coaster, Expedition Everest and Primeval Twist.
When asked to describe his favorite part of the first day, he replied with sarcasm far beyond his four years, “Oh yeah. I know. The part where I couldn’t ride any of the cool rides because I am too little.”
He was still taking the rejection hard at the end of the week. When he measured less than the necessary 42 inches for a log ride at Sea World, I argued with the gatekeeper that he had qualified all week for similar-sized rides at Disney. “Sorry lady. No exceptions,” he said flatly.
As we walked away, Sam hung his head, lifted his palms toward the sky and said, “What is this? Honey I shrunk the kids week?”
The trip required consultation and guidance from two massive “Doing Disney” manuals, the setting of a daily alarm and ridiculous outlays of cash. Yet, despite all of this planning and effort we can only hope that our kids will remember the happiest and most magical Disney moments rather than the fact that they were too little for the really fun stuff.
I guess justice is finally being served for the ill feelings I harbored so long over the family dream vacation I wasn’t born to see.
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