Well, I Had a Good Run.

I ran my first marathon about 20 years ago. There is nothing like the feeling of crossing the finish line at a marathon.  Even if you can’t or won’t run a marathon, do yourself a favor and sit at the finish line of a marathon someday.  You will see the triumph of the human spirit in several thousand individual stories.  The training itself is life changing.  I do miss the days of being able to run 26.2 miles. During training, I could eat my weight in Peanut M&Ms and not gain a pound. (I have empirical evidence to back up that claim). It probably helped that I was also much younger when I started running because that part isn’t completely true anymore. I didn’t keep as much weight off when I ran the Chicago Marathon three years ago.  Father Time ultimately wins the battle against every exercise program, and these M&M are not going to eat themselves.   

Facebook gets a bad rap, and on some issues, they deserve every bit of the blame. But I really like getting comments from all my friends on my birthday, seeing pictures of my friends’ children, and I especially like the memories that Facebook occasionally sends me.  They remind me of something that I had forgotten about or bring back a wave of emotions I haven’t felt since the day of the original event.  I got a Facebook memory last week from ten years ago where I posted that I was about to run the NYC Marathon in support of the Michael J. Fox Foundation. I still remember my heart jumping when I saw Mom and Amy at the finish line. Running that race was a Top Ten memory in my life.  At least for now. I think by the time it’s all said and done, my girls are going to occupy all ten spots on that list.

This summer, I started training to run the Dallas Marathon this year. I used to consider it a shame that I had run 5 marathons, but I hadn’t run my hometown marathon. I figured it was something that I had to do so it was time to hit the pavement again. But when I got the results from my MRI a few weeks ago showing I have degenerative disc disease and the doctor telling me my marathon days were over, I wasn’t terribly disappointed. 

Running marathons isn’t an endeavor for those who like to straddle the fence. Either you are in or you are out. There is no halfway. You have to have the fire to endure the grind. I just didn’t have the same fire anymore, and I know the reason why. Anybody who has ever run a marathon knows that part of the deal is that you give up Saturday mornings for about 5 months. You have to get up early and run for several hours each Saturday if you want to experience the euphoria of crossing the finish line. I used to think that there was no better way to start a Saturday than to get up early and go for a long run. But I’ve found something better now — making pancakes and watching cartoons with the two cutest girls to ever grace this planet. 

I heard a stat that when your child goes off to college at 18, as a parent, you have already spent 90% of the time that you will ever spend with your child. I didn’t believe that stat when I heard it, mainly because I didn’t want it to be true. Ella is 4, so if it is true, then I’m already 22.2% through with my Ella allotment. That number makes me sad. I was hoping the math was somewhere closer to .00001%. I’m not going to judge people with children who still give up their Saturday mornings to train. We all make choices. There will always be a part of me that will miss running, but it’s nothing close to the feeling of missing my girls when I’m not with them. I’ve got a finite number of Saturdays with my girls, and I want to make the most of them.

I don’t know why I’m so attached to my girls. My Dad traveled for work for the first fourteen years of my life, and we didn’t get to see him much during that time. I’m not blaming him. He did what he thought he had to do to support his family. Toward the end of his life, he said his biggest regret was missing watching us kids grow up. Maybe I don’t want that regret. Or maybe it’s because my girls are just so dang cute and fun. Regardless, I’d rather spend Saturday mornings playing with them than running.

A sacrifice is something given up or lost. I don’t know how many more marathons I would have run if my back hadn’t killed my plans, but I know this — It doesn’t feel like a sacrifice when you find something better.  

P.S. I’m learning that choosing pancakes over long runs doesn’t do any favors for your waistline.  The only way I’m getting back to wearing 31-inch waist jeans is if I pull a Jerry Seinfeld and change the tags on my pants.