I figure if I had the audacity back in November to proclaim that I was going to train and actually run a half marathon, I should go ahead and come clean that I’m not.
I tried. I really did.
I followed a schedule. I was making progress and I was ticking off those miles. I was actually enjoying myself. Considering I don’t LOVE running that was a pleasant surprise.
I should have thought more about this. I should have realized how nuts I was to sign up and take this on with a three-month old at the time. I never took into consideration how stupid and short-sighted I was and never considered starting with more reasonably attainable goals.
Nope. Not me. I just shot right out of the gate three months post-partum with baby #3 and decided that training for a half marathon would be a good idea. Like I said. Stupid and short-sighted.
First came the nursing issues and decreased milk production. Considering Harper refuses a bottle, that in and of itself became problematic. Yet, I forged ahead.
Then came the holidays, cold weather and days I simply couldn’t bring myself to take Harper out in the jogger in the cold weather. Then the seemingly endless weeks of illness hit.
Oh, the germs. Those damn germs that no amount of hand washing, bleach or prayers will get rid of. The co-pays stacked up and I got to know the staff at our pediatricians office and the pharmacy pretty well.
The kids fell like dominos. Just when one would recover another would get knocked down and so the game went. Back and forth and back again.
I got sick twice and finally, by the time I began to dig myself out of my illness hole, I’d fallen so far behind in training I simply gave up.
Pathetic. Utterly pathetic. I gave up, threw in the towel and had delusional thoughts that if I avoided thinking about it, the training would happen miraculously and I’d still run.
I don’t like giving up. In-fact, after everything I’ve been through with this piece of shit brain tumor, the idea of giving up makes me sick. My mentality is about kicking ass and taking names. I don’t give up.
But this time I did give up. I took the easy way out and succumbed to my weakness, vulnerability and inability to pull this off as I had intended. My failure has eaten away at me, at my self-esteem and left me with a knot in my stomach and feeling unsettled.
I refuse to walk it and I refuse to even attempt it just to do it. I refuse to do it just to say I did it. I set out to run it. I had a reasonable time in mind and that isn’t going to happen. I refuse to spend whatever amount of time it takes to walk or walk/run and mentally beat the crap out of myself for failing to do it how I had set out to do it. I’m competitive and I am my own worst enemy.
I’ll make a go of it again. I threw in the towel, but I didn’t throw it away. I’ll set out to tackle this again when life settles down, when I’m not nursing a baby, when I can reasonably make time for this and when I’m actually ready for this.
I failed this time and it’s ok. I’ve learned and accepted it wasn’t meant to be for me right here and now. I’m moving on.
I’ll own this race one day on my terms and I’ll be proud of myself for what got me to that finish line. Today I’m owning that the moment isn’t going to be this Sunday.
Oh well. There are other Sundays.