I am Not a Quitter

2.12.2006
I have never been an exceptionally amazing person, and there have been times, looking back, that I wouldn't even classify myself as a good person. I have been mean to people who probably didn't deserve it, I have been selfish and, most of all, I have always been a quitter. I have come home early from trips due to homesickness, I have gotten distracted, disenchanted, and overwhelmed by activities and obligations and simply not seen them through.


I have been on a life path for the last two years or so that heads away from that person, but I always harbor in the deepest recesses of my being a fear that, when push comes to shove, that quitter is going to jump into the captain's chair, throw on the reverse thrusters, and get us the hell out of there. This morning, when I got home at 12:30 on the night before my first half-marathon, that quitter whispered to me, "You know, you don't HAVE to go. You haven't really run much this week, you might not make it." So I set my alarm and went to bed knowing that I might just sleep through it in the morning. At 6:30 a.m., I lay in bed thinking of all that I had to do to get ready for the race and what little time I had in which to get it done. Another perfectly reasonable excuse for lying in, but I got up, packed my bag, and headed out the door.


The race was hard. I started out at 9.5/10 minute miles, but the hills slowed me down (and the lack of sleep slowed me even further). All along the route, the TNT coaches were cheering us on, jogging beside us, asking how we were doing. I never felt pain, though my shoulder did grind at a few key moments, I was simply going. Two and a half hours of running is a long time. It was not easy, but it was never impossible, which left the greatest impression on me. I remember thinking that this was a definite possibility.


I would like to tell you that 6:30 this morning was the last time I heard from our temptress, the quitter, but she was with me all along that course. There was a time in the 7th mile that the course doubled back on itself and people were running in both directions, and I could have turned and cut a mile out of my race, but I wanted to finish the whole thing. I wanted to be able to tell people that I ran the 13.1 (and believe me, I do). I wanted to be able to wear my finisher's medal and not feel like a fraud. The legend of Pheidippides running from Marathon to Athens might be a myth, but I couldn't see myself concocting a story, I wanted the real thing.


SO I may not necessarily have been a nice person in my youth; and as I settle into adulthood, I would not call myself great. I am, however, comfortable: with who I am, with what I can do, and, most importantly to me, with looking people in the eye. I am not a quitter. I am an endurance athlete, in the race of life, and beyond.