Failure

A few days after I had Sal, I was attempting to walk {basically strategically shuffling} from the bathroom to the hospital bed just as a nurse entered the room and watched me in shock. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how much pain are you in right now?” she asked, probing my response.

I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I don’t know, maybe a three.”

Tyler about had a knipshit and shrieked, “You are not a three – you can hardly walk right now. You are not a three!”

What did I know? All I was focused on was getting back to bed so I could cuddle that cute little baby.

They say that your race day should have equal days recovery as the miles completed. Recovery from a half marathon would mean 13 days before returning back to any strenuous workouts. Even after two hours and 12 minutes of the biggest challenge in my life, half a dozen ridiculous hills, two bruised toes, a blood blister the size of a quarter and a tweaked lower back, the battle wounds didn’t keep me from finishing the race and they sure as hell didn’t keep me from enjoying Nashville with my motivational running buddies.

Let me tell you how our recovery went from our first Rock’n’Roll Half Marathon. Directly after we left the Nissan Stadium we headed over to Smokin Thighs where we got our fill of some spicy BBQ and moonshine bloody marys. Yes, I said moonshine because that’s how they do it in the south. And since you can’t find a chaser outside of Wisconsin we sipped those down with a big. fat. beer. This is why Wisconsin girls need to run – because we like to eat and drink. a lot. {No shame here.}

From there, we went home to clean ourselves up before heading to The Gulch where we browsed some cute shops before heading downtown and hitting up dinner at the Broadway Brewhouse where I indulged in some great local beer, Jackalope Rompo Red Rye Ale to be exact. After roaming a few more crazy bars, having my eyes bullied by the excessive plaid and not-so cute cowboy boots, my ears began to bleed from country music. I was spent. It was all fabulous, but I was looking forward to putting my feet up for the night. They kind of deserved it.

This morning while listening to K-Love on the way to work they were asking listeners what they would do if God removed all risk of failure. I thought long and hard. Think about it – if you already please God in the highest possible way, you will never fail. Nothing you can do will ever fail Him. That is an amazing concept. And so peaceful. What would I do if God removed all risk of failure? Considering I live in constant fear of failure, also known as anxiety, I was quite surprised at what my answer was.

I would run a full marathon.

Next year the youngest of my lunch-time running buddies turns 26 years old. We said – what a perfect year to commit to a 26 mile race? Who knows if it will really happen, but for the first time in my life… I was genuinely interested. And I still am. If I could take on the challenge of 13 hilly miles and be honored with this amazing recovery and enlightenment, what would happen if I took on 26 miles?

Although some may say it was the moonshine, the perfect company or just basic old luck, recovery has been a breeze. Yes, despite the fact I can’t wear a shoe on my right foot yet, I am as happy as a clam. I can honestly say the best part of it all has been the runner’s high which hopefully will linger for several more days.

What I have learned through this experience, much like when I became a mother, is that pain can be a perception. It is an approach to how you solve the problem at hand. And even more, failure is not an option with God. What running offers me is a way to feel pain and a way to channel it productively. Ironically, it is a part of my life where I welcome agony and discomfort. I will work through it with every stride. I will continue to ask myself if this is pain that will make stop what I am trying to accomplish or if the finish-line holds greater triumphs for me. I actually find that the greater the pain, the more rewarding the victory.

I know I will always fail if I compare myself to others, but I gain big if I focus on growth and reward through my individual accomplishments. Running is my way to manipulate and appreciate the anguish of life. It seems that on every run I come face to face with the harsh realities that nothing is perfect. It seems like running is the best way to actually control the pain and I can find joy in the discomfort because I have gained confidence that it is only temporary, even if it doesn’t feel like it at that very instant, it will go away with time. So I choose to take the pain with the gain. And with time, I know I will reap the reward of recovery because it heals all wounds.