At one point in my life, I did consider myself a fit individual. Calling me athletic, in shape, or raring to go at all time wasn’t far out of the question. Upon catching sight of my body figure, it wasn’t out of the question to assume I could go the distance. If there is something I can credit myself for, it’s that I truly do have a spirit inside me that does not let me quit.
It’s as if I have a little voice inside my yelling, “Don’t you dare quit. What’s it going to look like if you quit now? If you stop, you’re not going to live up to the potential you do have. You’re better than this. You’re better than this kid next to you. You’re 10 times better than the kid barely holding the lead on you…AND YOU CAN’T PASS HIM?”
Yup. That’s my inner dialogue when I’m competing. Everybody around me instantly becomes a guy. I can be playing a hard-core game of girls-only basketball, and I’ll only refer to my opponents as men. It’s the competitor in me.
When I played tennis, I had a soundtrack that played in my head at all times. Every song was hard rock, heavy metal, or extremely epic. Think the final battle song from King Arthur or the track titled Mombasa from Inception. I often put ordinary tasks to tracks like this in my head.
What does this have to do with anything? As I’m watching these people run the Half-Mile and the actual marathon, I already thinking about the music I’d have on my Ipod as I ran this race (if I ever actually convinced myself to run the damn marathon to begin with, which is a far cry from reality.) As I’m watching hundreds of people run by, I’m listing the songs in my head which our appear on my running playlist for 13.1 miles. Ridiculous length to run all at once, but at the same time, it’s also the ultimate test for human strength.
Like I said, I once considered myself a highly athletic person. Worked out on my own accord, I actually pushed myself to become physically and mentally better (There’s a reason I love and hate tennis as much as I do, and half of it is completely the mental game.) But I’m sitting on the sidewalk, drinking a little mimosa I had concocted before venturing out to watch the races, and there are people who are in the prime of their 60s, some visibly fighting the battle known as weight loss and this was their proclamation the weight would not win. People, who judging merely on their appearance, look rough and out of shape. These people were running this time-honored marathon, and there I was, drinking a mimosa, cheering them on.
I was doing my part, cheering them on because they took on a feat that I don’t see myself taking on any time soon. I used to be a runner…only to stay in shape for tennis the following fall. Now, I run out of breath running across the parking lot. But I’m watching these people who I know I’m in better shape than on a natural basis…and they’re running freaking 13.1 miles in about 2 hours time!
If I’ve ever had my competitive side rise up out of me, it was then. I wanted to jump up and sprint across that finish line. See, I was one of those runners who always had a little bit more to give at the very end of a race, no matter how long it was. I always managed to pick up the pace just enough to give everyone a last run for their money. I don’t like anyone feel safe for too long in a competition.
If anything, this will push me to get into better shape. The top 10 finishers of the actual marathon were all tinier than sticks. They were less than twigs….I feel like if there was a massive hurricane-like wind, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Literally, they were the size of my pinky. On the flip side, the women were ripped. The skin on their abs looked so tight it might rip off their body at any second, but not in a good way. Like nasty rip off. Their arms alone also made me never want to piss them off in a bar fight.
Who am I kidding, though. If they’re serious runners, I’m not going to find them at the bar. Throw down at a fitness club, perhaps?
“I used to think drinking was the only way to be happy. Now I know there is no way to be happy.”
A world filled with alcohol is simply not enough for Laura Kightlinger, the comedic charmer that she is.
It’s been a helluva week, so my Friday maybe wasn’t as Fabulous as I would’ve liked, but it was Fabulous none the less. Here are my Fabulous Fridays:
Fabulous Cheat Treat:
The beer tents are calling my name. Only time will tell if I can resist them this weekend.
Be safe, and May the Force be with you.