Last weekend, I raced the BMW Dallas Half Marathon. One of the mantras I repeat while I run is, “my race my pace” as a way to stay focused and not get distracted by everyone else on the course. This works for me, because I train like I race; alone. There is only one race, and in the end, it is only with yourself.
The coral is my favorite part of the race; even more so than the finish line. The nervous excitement of 26,000 other runners, the hope on every athlete’s face, the pulse of anticipation, the national anthem, the pride, the readiness, and the final moments of waiting. The coral is a holding pattern where everything that carried you there and everything that will carry you out mingle into the sweetest expectation.
In Dallas last week, I broke through some holding patterns, both literal and figurative, all unexpected.
First, I broke through a holding pattern of pace, when the race I thought was impossible turned out to be entirely within my reach.
I’ll never forget the feel of my feet crossing the mats as the digital clock flashed my finish time. It didn’t feel like fatigue. It was the sensation of triumph and training and the victory of knowing that when you do the work, the work returns itself to you, exponentially and unselfishly. Faster, stronger, and braver than ever; anything is possible now.
But I also broke through a holding pattern of the heart, when the person I thought would be a part of my future turned out to be a failure in my present.
I’ll never forget the sound of a suitcase rolling across the floor as the door closed behind me. It wasn’t the sound of heartache. It was the sound of choice and conclusion and the peace of knowing that what I want for myself is stronger than my feelings for anyone else; a heart too wild to be restrained by someone else’s weary hurt.
And I also broke through a holding pattern of patience, when the person I thought might be lost to my past turned up again in my present.
I’ll never forget the sight of the bartender’s gaze shifting over my shoulder as a kiss I couldn’t see pressed quietly onto the crown of my head. It wasn’t love at first sight. It was the look of familiarity and fondness and the confidence of knowing that my instincts are more trustworthy than the whispers of my doubting mind. He came back for the memories we left in Dallas, like he’d been there all along.
Running for hours and miles, solo in body and spirit, has taught me so much about myself and how to be in this world. If you do it for you, on your own terms, you just might achieve a result you never thought possible. And when you do, there’s no one else to credit and no one else to blame. It’s just you and the power of your own preparation, the protection of your own perimeters, and the confidence of your own conviction.
Last week in Dallas, I broke through a lot of holding patterns; physical, mental, and emotional. I stood in that coral knowing that what carried me there would carry me out. There was a pattern but it wasn’t holding me back any more. I ran those miles on my legs, I drew that boundary with my pride, and I offered that affection from my heart. All of those victories were always within reach and will forever belong to me: my race, my pace.