One Mile At A Time

Today I walked 14 miles. I walked slow because I am building my mileage in preparation for the WDW Marathon in January. Every mile I complete is another training mile for the 26.2 ahead of me.

For me, the first mile of a marathon is the worst. For that first mile, my brain is trying to convince me that this was a terrible idea, and that I will probably die before I finish. My legs are screaming, my lungs are gasping for air, and my heart is pumping at full capacity. But I keep going. By the time I reach Mile Marker 1, the parts of my body have settled down and we all get ready for the long haul.

I plod along, mentally looking for each succeeding mile marker. Each marker means one less mile to anticipate and undertake. After marker 13, the miles left become fewer than the miles travelled. Finally, the best marker, Marker 25, comes into view, and I joyfully hobble to the finish.

Sometimes I wish I could jump from Marker 1 to Marker 25 and just skip all the ones in between. But there's something about struggling with each one that creates a sense of accomplishment and pride. For the miles I want to cry over, there are the miles that are fun because of who I meet or what I see. For the miles that seem to never end, there are those that go by quickly. For the miles I limp in pain, there are miles that I jog effortlessly. There are good miles and bad miles, but somehow I get through them all.

I think I participate in marathons because they help me understand my life. There are good parts and not-so-good parts, but they all have to happen because it's my life. I just have to keep going and look for those markers along the way, because although each part is different, each is vitally important to make my life complete. Every step, every experience, every moment brings me closer to that finish line when I can truly say, "It's been a great race."

Yep, that's me!!