Monday Musing, 2/4/19

Hello Apprentices--​

Since I know you’ve all thought of nothing else all week except how I did on that half-marathon I talked about in last week’s musing, allow me to give you the official result…

My goal was two hours.

The Author's dad, the Author, and the Author's amazing girlfriend enjoying a post-run sit and shiny bling.

My official race time was two hours… and two-tenths of one second.

Two-dang-tenths of one second.

That’s not even a STEP.

But I tell you what… it was awesome.

Other fun facts… the course was actually about two-tenths of a mile SHORT. Numerology!! Which means I actually would have come in at more like 2:01:30.

I needed to average 9:10 per mile to hit my two hour goal. The official results say I averaged 9:11 per mile. My super cool Garmin GPS watch told me my average was 9:18 per mile. Cuz of those missing two-tenths of a mile.

What’s the truth?

And since I finished the race with no injuries and with new personal bests in both time and distance, and my girlfriend finished and shared victory beers with me, and my dad finished and shared victory bacon with me, and my good buddy finished and shared victory selfies with me… does that mean that those two-tenths of a second (or that minute and a half, WHATEVER) necessarily DEFINE my race?

Absolutely not.

Check out that Picasso quote. Around mile 11, when laying down in the middle of Tamiami Trail started to seem like a really really good idea, I started chanting in my head:  “Every step… is a new best… Every step… is a new best…” Because that was the truth. Every step meant I had run longer without stopping/walking/resting than I had ever run before in my life. Like I said last week—the legs were fine, but wow oh wow did my head keep telling me to just pull up for a sec. Just a sec. Just TWO-TENTHS OF A SEC. grrrrrr.

Second cookie… did any miracles happen when I refused to give in to my head? When I thought to myself “hey! Just finish under two hours and you’ll NEVER HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN!” Did I suddenly snap through a wormhole in spacetime to the finish line?

Nope.

So. Re-define “miracle.” My dad’s in his 60s. He completed his first half-marathon last year. His second one this year. Is already signed up for his third one next year.

And you better believe I’ll come in under two hours next year. Like, there is zero doubt. Not doubting that goal? Miracle.

This week… do something you know you can’t do. Just try it. Doesn’t have to be huge to have a huge impact on you. 
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While you do that new thing this week, I’ll be hanging up my medal. So that it hangs two-tenths of an inch off the wall.