Life is a Marathon. Run it.

I’m thinking about running a marathon. This spur of the moment idea was once a seed planted inside my mind for five years now. I’ve always wanted to run a marathon just to see what it’s like to touch the finish line, arms extended, heart racing, sweat running down my face like exuberant tears, and muscles pleasantly aching.

I’ve never been the athletic type. Once I came last in a race in middle school, breathing like a sweating hog down the field in the hot Caribbean sun while my faster classmates galloped ahead and left me behind, heaving in their dust. I picked up dancing instead. I was never the track & field star champion my father was, yet for some reason as a toddler I would always try to out-run him. “Ah…this one is gonna be a track star like her daddy,” my father used to say long before I discovered that back then, I’d rather toss my newly pressed hair and from the sidelines, watch the girls’ track & field team practice at my high school.

So recently I received an email announcing a NYC marathon to raise funds for a children Cancer fund. My fingers toyed with the delete button as I read the email. Hmm, I thought. Me running a marathon? I recalled conversations I’ve had with friends who have run marathons before. They never had a bad thing to say about trying.
In fact, my concern has little to do with the actual marathon itself. It has to do more with my contemplation, which is an anomaly in itself. My sudden burst of confidence must have come from this year’s accomplishments. Everything that I’ve once thought impossible, I did. I’m in a graduate program for writing (a very competitive application process), I traveled to Europe (something that wasn’t planned for this year but happened anyway), I went back home to Jamaica for the first time in 5 years and introduced my partner to my family (something that I never thought possible), I rode a bike all over NYC and Washington DC this summer (I used to be afraid of riding anywhere outside of a park), I got engaged, and I’m almost published.
Therefore, despite the fact that one has to train extensively for a marathon, a part of me feels ready to take on any challenge that comes my way; a part of me knows that although I’m not a runner, I’ve always been on my mark, getting ready to sprint ahead, focused on the finish line yet never forgetting to admire the scenery or the cool breeze tugging lightly at my hair on my way; a part of me already knows that I’m a winner regardless of what I do and where I go; a part of me knows that daddy bequeathed his survival of the fittest genes to me, and although my speed still doesn’t match his (even in his mid-50’s), he has always allowed me to win, letting me know that getting to the finish line is more important than the time it takes to get there.

Nicole © 2010

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