Because when I say it today it is the first time I really believe it, and the first time I can truly visualize myself crossing the finish line.
So much of this journey has been about physical growth/training and raising funds for vital cancer research, that sometimes I have not taken the time to reflect upon the ways this journey is changing me as a person as well. My entire life I have struggled with confidence - something that many people find surprising given I spent more than ten years performing on stage and screen or that I seemingly have no trouble working a room. I am the girl who makes the awkward joke in a room full of strangers to break the ice, the person who introduces the two quiet people at the party and helps them start a conversation, and the one whose hand is always raised when a volunteer is needed. A wallflower, I am not.
And yet, behind that seeming confidence I am always doubting whether I am [fill in the blank] enough.Good enough Skinny enough. Strong enough. The list goes on and on, and surely many of you can relate. However, I had underestimated the role of confidence (or more specifically, lack thereof) in my marathon training until hearing Dr. Grayson Kimball speak at our DFMC team meeting this past week. It was a "light bulb" moment, at a time where I really needed some light.
Two weeks ago I had an awful run. It was my first attempt at 16 miles and things just weren't clicking. As the record setting snowfall has restricted the amount of safe routes available, our group long runs have been confined to miles 17-21 on the marathon course - or what is more commonly referred to as "the Newton hills." This section of the course presents four rolling hills, ending with the infamous Heartbreak Hill. Reaching higher mileage on this route means several out/backs. And while there is no question that this will only make us all the stronger come Marathon Monday, it has still been quite daunting.
And so two weeks ago, as I approached my final ascent up Heartbreak Hill on 14.75 mile legs that had started to cramp up I stopped and said "I cannot go any further." I staggered into Heartbreak Hill Running company and called a cab to take me the final 1.5 miles to my car parked at Boston College. And then I cried. Well, bawled is probably a more apt description. Because I felt like I was letting down every single person who has supported me on this journey. Letting down every person I am running in honor or memory of. Letting down those who look to us for hope and inspiration as they bravely fight disease like cancer. And letting down my team and everything it symbolizes.
Instead of being proud that I had still ran my farthest run of 14.75 miles, I focused on the 1.25 miles I had not ran on that day. Instead of being grateful for my health and a body that had allowed me to move and surpass a goal I could have never imagined a year ago, I was angry at what it had failed to allow me to do on that day. And instead of searching for what could be learned, I only focused on the frustrations of that day.
Spending much of the weekend in a funk, I tried to look ahead to the coming week's training and brush it off. But that little voice inside my head kept asking "how will you ever run 26.2 miles when you couldn't even run 16?" My confidence had been shaken and in the process it made me realize that I had doubted myself all along. It seems that sub-consciously I had been waiting for this moment. The point where I would realize that I cannot do this and that I was crazy to ever think I could. I realized that I had always been waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for someone from the DFMC staff to inform me that there had been a mistake and another runner needed my spot on the team.
And then something remarkable happened. We had our monthly DFMC team meeting and Dr. Kimball began speaking to us about our "mental training," and as he spoke it was as if he was reading my thoughts from the past two weeks. While I generally try to be a "glass is half full" sort of person in my every day life, I had been doing anything but in my approach to my training and even the marathon itself. Suddenly I realized that the biggest challenge in this journey hasn't been the cold, the snow, or raising thousands of dollars. The biggest challenge has been myself. Because I had never let myself really believe that I could be capable of a goal such as this, no matter how many times I said it out loud or wrote it down.
I had fallen into a sort of "runners block" and as Saturday's group run loomed ahead, I had been dreading once again tackling 16 miles on the hills. But as Dr. Kimball shared the importance of setting ourselves up to achieve success versus finding ways to anticipate failure, I reflected on the many ways I had done the latter prior to and during that awful run two weeks back. Leaving our team meeting with a renewed sense of excitement and perspective, I spent the next few days reframing my mental approach to this challenge.
Saturday morning I awoke bright and early ready to take on the day. Watching the Rocky montage while I ate breakfast, I let myself be excited instead of intimidated by the mileage for the day, and then spent some time watching some of my incredibly inspiring teammates share "Why I Run." On the drive in I put on some of my favorite songs to get me psyched up and by the time I reached Boston College (where we park and run out of for this particular route), I was full energized and ready to go.
And then I ran.
I didn't think about pace. I didn't think about the cold. I didn't think about what I had done in my last run (or failed to do). I just ran.
And as the miles clicked by, I realized that I had found the joy that had been missing from my long runs. It had been blocked by fear and doubt, and by that little voice questioning whether I can really do this. In all the time I had spent researching sneakers, electrolytes, and training plans I had forgotten about the most important element of all - believing in yourself.
Oh and not only did I reach 16 miles, but I ran my fastest average pace yet.
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Two weeks ago I had an awful run. It was my first attempt at 16 miles and things just weren't clicking. As the record setting snowfall has restricted the amount of safe routes available, our group long runs have been confined to miles 17-21 on the marathon course - or what is more commonly referred to as "the Newton hills." This section of the course presents four rolling hills, ending with the infamous Heartbreak Hill. Reaching higher mileage on this route means several out/backs. And while there is no question that this will only make us all the stronger come Marathon Monday, it has still been quite daunting.
And so two weeks ago, as I approached my final ascent up Heartbreak Hill on 14.75 mile legs that had started to cramp up I stopped and said "I cannot go any further." I staggered into Heartbreak Hill Running company and called a cab to take me the final 1.5 miles to my car parked at Boston College. And then I cried. Well, bawled is probably a more apt description. Because I felt like I was letting down every single person who has supported me on this journey. Letting down every person I am running in honor or memory of. Letting down those who look to us for hope and inspiration as they bravely fight disease like cancer. And letting down my team and everything it symbolizes.
Instead of being proud that I had still ran my farthest run of 14.75 miles, I focused on the 1.25 miles I had not ran on that day. Instead of being grateful for my health and a body that had allowed me to move and surpass a goal I could have never imagined a year ago, I was angry at what it had failed to allow me to do on that day. And instead of searching for what could be learned, I only focused on the frustrations of that day.
Spending much of the weekend in a funk, I tried to look ahead to the coming week's training and brush it off. But that little voice inside my head kept asking "how will you ever run 26.2 miles when you couldn't even run 16?" My confidence had been shaken and in the process it made me realize that I had doubted myself all along. It seems that sub-consciously I had been waiting for this moment. The point where I would realize that I cannot do this and that I was crazy to ever think I could. I realized that I had always been waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for someone from the DFMC staff to inform me that there had been a mistake and another runner needed my spot on the team.
I had fallen into a sort of "runners block" and as Saturday's group run loomed ahead, I had been dreading once again tackling 16 miles on the hills. But as Dr. Kimball shared the importance of setting ourselves up to achieve success versus finding ways to anticipate failure, I reflected on the many ways I had done the latter prior to and during that awful run two weeks back. Leaving our team meeting with a renewed sense of excitement and perspective, I spent the next few days reframing my mental approach to this challenge.
Saturday morning I awoke bright and early ready to take on the day. Watching the Rocky montage while I ate breakfast, I let myself be excited instead of intimidated by the mileage for the day, and then spent some time watching some of my incredibly inspiring teammates share "Why I Run." On the drive in I put on some of my favorite songs to get me psyched up and by the time I reached Boston College (where we park and run out of for this particular route), I was full energized and ready to go.
And then I ran.
I didn't think about pace. I didn't think about the cold. I didn't think about what I had done in my last run (or failed to do). I just ran.
And as the miles clicked by, I realized that I had found the joy that had been missing from my long runs. It had been blocked by fear and doubt, and by that little voice questioning whether I can really do this. In all the time I had spent researching sneakers, electrolytes, and training plans I had forgotten about the most important element of all - believing in yourself.
Oh and not only did I reach 16 miles, but I ran my fastest average pace yet.
Click HERE to Donate