*This is the third post in a five-post series on my quest to complete the Rock ‘n Roll San Diego Marathon on June 3, 2012.
Running was never my thing. I grew up playing little league baseball as every American boy is destined to do. I actually regret that I didn’t play longer. I long for the days to go and play catch with my dad and my brother. But I had a bad coach when I was 12 or 13 which ruined the game for me.
So, I picked up tennis. And yes, the rest is history. I played and played and played so more. I made my neighbor and my dad play with me just so I could have someone to play with. Because of the two racquets hanging in our garage, I found a life-long love. I played on the high school tennis team. (Where I would meet me best friend.) I coached the team for one year. Then I went and worked for the sport for over five years.
But a back injury took me off the competitive streak I was on. And I really do miss it. In fact, the other day as I lay in bed, I imagined walking to the service line and the fuzz of the barely used tennis ball in my hand. Standing there, bouncing the ball and picturing the impeding serve in my mind. It is a moment of pure control. Your emotions. Your physical presence is all under your control. It is actually the only moment in the game when that is true. It’s like the pitcher in baseball. It is on you.
There are definitely similarities to that moment and the experience that comes from lacing up my running shoes each time. So, back to why I picked up running shoes in the first place. After my back injury, I was told by my doctor that my super-competitive days were over. I was crushed, but as an athlete, I knew I needed some kind of a physical outlet. So I, perhaps crazily, picked up running. Since then, I have logged over 1,100 miles which may not seem like a lot, but to me, it is beyond incomprehensible. I was never a runner. The other day as I ran my longest run of my life (18 miles), I thought back to high school when running a mile was a challenge. Not anymore.
When I was accepted to run the 2011 NYC Half-Marathon, I was elated. I knew the challenge had been accepted. And I ran. And ran. And ran.
I trained hard and all winter long. The race was on March 20, 2011 and all week, the weather had been unseasonably warm. So, that’s what I thought I would be getting. But as luck would have it, the night before, the mercury plummeted and the wind picked up. I don’t actually remember the temperature at race time, but the wind-chill could not have been warmer than 15-20 degrees Fahrenheit.
The race began in Central Park and by the time we broke into the city, I had already completed eight of the 13.1 miles. My energy exploded as I ran towards Times Square. I actually don’t remember much of the race after Times Square to be honest. Crossing the finish line was great, but I both of my knees were actually in quite a bit of pain by then, so just the feat of crossing the line was incredible. (Plus, my time shattered my goal by nearly ten minutes!)
I will never forget the moment, the experience of running through Times Square, the streets blocked off and fans on both sides of the road.
The journey last year was incredible and it was something I never ever thought I would do. But it was only a half-marathon. It, in reality, was only half of the journey I knew I wanted to go on.
