My life changed radically in 2008 when I began training
for my first marathon. It is hard to
believe it has only been 4 short years since I set out to do what “runners” do
and grappled with the doubt and insecurity of entering a world in which I
didn’t belong. I have struggled with uncertainty and fear,
doubting myself most of the way. It is
my default setting, whispering in my ear in the moments I am anxious and unsure
of myself.
I have found purpose in my running and feel unbelievably
blessed to be able to combine it with writing.
I am always incredibly touched when something I have written encourages
someone else. One comment I have never
found a way to be comfortable with, is that I am an inspiration. I squirm every time I hear this and although
I try to accept the comment with grace, I fall short most times.
It is a similar discomfort I have with the challenge to be
vulnerable. Being uncomfortable with it is not the same as not being vulnerable. I am vulnerable, sensitive, often easily hurt
and exposed more often than I would like.
Running a 50 k yesterday, the hours on the trail gave me time to think as always. I
found myself thinking about my tendency to wait just until the race to register. I thought about my physical reaction, a tug in
the pit of my stomach the night before as I was pulling in for packet pick
up. Driving into the campground of tents
and athletic looking people all wearing the trademark brands of competent
runners, I wanted to turn around and go home.
It is the same thought I have every time, which actually seems to be
more of a feeling. “These people belong
and I don’t. “ I wait, holding my breath
for the group to collectively turn and look at me, the one person who doesn’t
belong there. It doesn’t happen of course, and each time I go through this I
talk myself back into reality. But the
pattern is predictable, and stays with me through the start line the next
morning.
I had plenty of time to analyze it yesterday. Was I afraid I wouldn’t finish the race? Was I afraid I couldn’t do it? Was I afraid my body would shut down or that
I would be injured? Was I afraid of being so slow that the course closed before I got to
the finish line? Was I afraid every person there would see me as an imposter,
figuring out I wasn’t a real runner? Answering no to all the questions, meant I
really didn’t have a good reason for doubting myself, yet I do every time. I am
afraid of signing up and I am afraid of all of the things I know are not
true. I am afraid of quitting, even though
I know I won’t. I am afraid of failing
even though I know finishing is good enough.
I am afraid of falling short and being judged even though it would be
unjust.
In my mind I call it fearful courage. It is as paradoxical as it sounds and I can’t
explain it, because it is as emotive as it sounds.
The best I can do is this: It is feeling
