It hit me one day this week. I don't remember when it was or what caused the revelation, but once I had it, a sense of peace washed over me.
It's about the journey, not the destination.
(So perhaps this blog's name should really be "Journey to the Finish Line"?)
As you may know, I've been feeling anxious lately about the MCM: It's only six months away! I haven't lost enough weight! I haven't been able to maintain a 15-minute-mile pace for 10 miles, let alone 26.2! I can't do this! Why did I ever think I could do this?!
But then, this week, I remembered what I had always told people with regard to the Marine Corps Marathon: I want to do the race, yes, but I'm most looking forward to training for the race. Doing those long runs on the weekends. Taking those wonderful "I just ran 15 miles" naps. Feeling my body get stronger. Coming up with longer and longer playlists to get me through longer and longer runs.
Recently, after two beautiful 10-mile races, I found myself grumbling that I'm not fast enough and who am I kidding? But that's ridiculous. I should instead be thanking God that I am where I am, that I'm back on my feet and able to run/walk any distance at all. I should be out there absorbing the sun and embracing the day and feeling the accomplishment, no matter how small it may seem. If I'm not, then why am I doing this?
Worrying about my speed and my progress will only sully this journey. It's not like I'm not pushing myself. I am. And that's all I can do. The rest will come, or it won't, but it really shouldn't matter.
What does matter is this twisty and turn-y and exciting and unpredictable journey I'm on.