Looking Back

Most people say, and I would have to agree, to not look back unless you want to go that way. Today, I broke that rule, and I think we all need to. Let me explain.

I was on the bus (yes...the bus seems to be somewhat of an inspirational place for me these days) looking out at the lake, the sun, and the ice glimmering off of the water, I began to reflect back to June, July, and August, when I was marathon training. I began to think about all of my friends who had an amazing race year last year. Some of us took on our first ultra marathon, some of us took on the race of all races--Ironman, some of us signed up for Ironman, and some of us took on marathons for the first time, and some of us took on triathlons for the first time. It was a great year. Now some of us are battling injuries, either as a result from an amazing 2009, some of them new, caused from the beginning of an early season, and we are forced to sit on the sidelines. The key word is sit. We (and I) hate to sit, hate to hear "You cannot." If you know me well enough, if you tell me not to, I will. I am one determined woman (or stubborn--call it what you will ;) ), and sometimes it's not a good trait, and I sense many of my good racing friends are just like me. Not being able to run right now due to an ankle injury is torture to me, and all I want to do is keep pushing the date up to when I can run.

When I was reflecting this morning, I suddenly remembered to remember, closed my eyes and did just that. I took myself back to the warm summer mornings when I would hit the pavement with some of my Element friends, I remembered the runs when it was just Jeremy and I--me constantly asking "what neighborhood are we in now?", I remembered the multiple 5am weekday runs Jessica Katz and I went on, and I recalled the amazing, crying-like-a-child-because-I-was-so-happy 20 miler I completed, right on my marathon goal time in August. I remember the laughs, the tears, the sweat, the joy of getting up and just going it all alone--my favorite times of running-- of just letting my mind wander for hours and hours as the power of my own body and my own will pushed me forward. I remembered the countless miles I put in for months, fighting the equally as countless excuses as to why I don't want to run, but still did.
I remembered waking up before the sun, but getting outside just when the sun was rising against the skyline and the lake and reminding myself "this is why I do this, and this is why I am so lucky." I remembered coming home from my runs, feeling this immense sense of accomplishment and pride, no matter how trashed my legs were. I remembered running through the times when I thought I couldn't go any further, and I remembered the runs when I was forced to walk, but knew that the next day was a new day. I remembered turning the last corner before the finish line of the Chicago marathon, and thinking "Oh. My. God. I did it. I am here. 26.2 miles later." And cried.

I remembered just how amazing I am.

I know many of us are still recovering, whether it's from injury or from a successful and hard season. I know it's easy to get caught up in the moment, of right now, of wondering "how am I going to reach the next goal?" Do yourself a favor. Remember. We seem to forget so easily where we have been, and what the experience has done for us, and how much we have accomplished. Take a few moments, close your eyes, and take yourself back to the days of training, of working towards your goal. Remember the journey, the sacrafices (oh there are so many...), the sweat, the time spent in your running shoes, on your bike, and in the pool, and remember how much that all paid off in the end. I know as endurance athletes we are constantly moving, constantly training for something, and constantly have a goal to work towards, causing us to lose sight of what really matters--what got us where we are, what got us to the point of being able to do any of this. Just take a moment, relax, sit (yes, I said it), and reflect, because you know what:

You are damn amazing and awesome and extraordinary.