That's why you sign up

My approach to running evolved from a blend of desire, curiosity, and passion.  There's never been any real intent on being the best at a local race.  The desire to push my own limits and learning how to embrace the uncomfortable parts of the competition is honestly my favorite part. The post race coffee, omelette and pancakes are maybe just as epic as the finish line sprint too.

Signing up for a local race doesn't warrant prize money, shoe sponsors or even highlights in the newspaper.  What I've found so unique in the running community though is regardless of age, ability, and racing experience, the camaraderie and spirit that exists amongst the crowd is something special. I appreciate and enjoy watching the early 20 somethings or high school freaks put on a show based on their youth and pure strength, but for me, the inspiration for the sport comes from the several decades plus runners, staying at it and passing down the figurative torch to all those who lace 'em up.    

I sign up for the acceptance that I am going to push myself out of a comfort zone, and it's going to hurt.  At one point or another in the race, your mind starts running as fast as your legs and the negative thoughts are inevitable.  My first 10 mile race was a new threshold zone, a uniquely odd distance between a 10k and half marathon.  The race was going very smooth and I felt strong until the last 5k.  The last 2 were especially tough.  My blood sugar ran higher, 200 + for the day and half going into the race, winding down from a sinus infection too, not at all ideal but nonetheless my strength held up better than I anticipated.  This was the first race I had headphones in too.  I liked it.  I kept the volume low enough to hear the environment, and special thanks to KRIT and Cudi the last few miles, the vibes were real.

I yelled ahead to a friend who demonstrated what a veteran marathon runner is capable of as each mile he was getting stronger, "well, I sure as hell didn't sign up to feel great the whole time," his response, "get your wind under control now so you can finish strong, let's go!"  

"One foot in front of the next, one foot in front of the next, this is why you signed up," as the internal chatter was firing, mile 9 just ticked. 

A common theme amongst endurance athletes, tapping into the mind body connection.  I guess everything we do is for the moment, for the experience.  We ride a roller coaster to feel that rush of adrenaline, we sit on a rocker to feel a sense of peace and serenity, we watch football highlights and dunk contests for the explosive displays of athleticism and strength.  I run to take a piece from all those endeavors and bring them into one experience.  

"Ignore the wind gusts, ignore the hill, one foot in front of the next, one foot in front of the next, finish line sprint is almost in sight," the painful chatter continues.   

Back to the chatter I keep alluding towards.  I once heard that your best conversations are with yourself.  Well, when your heart rate is in the threshold zone, and you've been running for over an hour, the conversations with yourself turn to a mode of survival. 

"There's the finish line, there it is, don't get passed, go, go!"  

Arms full swing, strong sprint to the finish.  Wow.  Heart pounding, head in a cloud, and legs somewhere along the way, you're in the moment, it's all come together.  No ESPN cameras, no 80,000 screaming fans, just you, yourself, and some fellow runners basking in the moment of a personal test and the end result, the finish line.

A bit of collected wisdom from those before me, the finish line is only a temporary pit stop until your next adventure.  I like that.  Nothing really ends.  Life itself is a temporary state of being.  The finish line is simply a reminder for those who seek it, a new chapter is about to begin.