And my conclusion? That fear is stupid.
A totally unwarranted waste of precious time. Why are we so afraid? Why the fear?
I cultivate a lot of the fear of failure. Somewhere in my past, I was informed that I was not good enough and that I better improve...which plays into any perfectionist's insecurity. If I fail, I won't have a perfect record so therefore, don't try. Don't risk failure, it isn't worth it. At least that's where I think it comes from.
I think I've written about this before but I often reflect back on 8th grade volleyball. My parents weren't able to send me to five volleyball camps each summer and I deduced that all the more popular girls would make the team in 8th grade. Even though I was a full-time starter on the 7th grade team and 'won' several games with my serving. I psyched myself out. I decided, in my stupid almost-8th-grade head that I wasn't going to be good enough, I wasn't going to make the team, and that I wasn't even going out for volleyball. Why risk the humiliation?
I "missed" try-out's because I "forgot" to get my physical from my doctor. As I smugly watched girls stressing out about volleyball try-out's, I heard a jarring thing. Over and over, girls commented that they were glad I couldn't go out for the team because my absence opened up a place for them.
Whaaa? I could have been good enough? I could have made it? I could have excelled another year as star server? DAMN. I'm my own worst enemy.
That crushing regret stayed with me. I went out for varsity softball as a freshman in a huge high school. Of course I didn't make the team (like, 2 juniors did, no sophomores or freshman). I was crushed, but only for about an hour. One time, I asked out a boy whom I wasn't sure liked me. One time, I went for a job for which I had no business really applying.
Guess that? I played softball throughout the years on various teams, rocking short stop and hitting balls to center field. The job? They hired me and I've been with them for 14 years. And the guy?
He's sitting three feet from me on the couch. Okay, HE asked ME out but it's been a 20 year party. That I wouldn't trade for the world.
So why the fear? Why the fear of failure or rejection when, statistically, it is irrevelant in the end?
I had the same fear when I applied for this doctorate. That stupid self-talk starts up inside my head...what if they laugh at your application? What if they write you back with a great big rejection? And I was admitted in the early decision process, guaranteeing me a place for this fall. I start classes in two weeks.
This all brings me to the race. The race that has been eliciting some fear for months now. I don't know why a half-marathon was so daunting. Maybe it was the 8th grader in me, worried that I wouldn't make the team and would get swept up by the 'struggle bus' at the end.
Sure, I was nervous before we started but started the course. Walking with Jack, I enjoyed the course! It poured on us when we were on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway (known to us Indy folks simply as "The Track"). It was very cool to walk the Track, despite the sheets of rain. It felt almost baptismal.
Cleansing.
Live bands played along the race route, one placed at least every half mile. Church groups egged us on, high school bands played "Jock Jams" songs, and live blues bands serenaded us with deep bass. Miles 1-3 flew by. All of the sudden, at Mile 4, I realized what the recurring sign was saying. There was a vertical sign at each mile that said "Pitarea." In my head, I was like, "Wow, Greeks must be sponsoring this...Pitarea!" The sign was next to a Mexican restaurant so I figured it might have been an ecumenical gathering of Mexicans and Greeks for sake of the race? Then I saw the sign again...maybe it was supposed to read, "Pi Terra." Like, 3.14 and "earth." Then I wondered if the formal marathon length of 26.2 miles was some deviation of Pi, or 3.14.
Then, like a thunder clap, I realized it read, "Pit Area."
OH. PIT AREA. Yeah, that makes more sense in Indianapolis, in the race month of May, as we are about to race on The Track. What's funniest is that Jack and I had this epiphany together.
Which helped us laugh our way through Miles 5 and 6. Mile 5 or so went through Speedway, Indiana (it's like Main Street USA) and the signs people held up were hysterical. Like, "Pet my dog for super powers," "Whine now, wine later," and "Wink if you just peed a little bit."
Cute.
Then we were on the track, with those rainy, blinding miles passing quickly. The track was WONDERRRRRFUL for walking. It was like walking on a rubber mat. The downpour stopped as we finished the Track and departed back to downtown Indy. Miles 9-12 were pretty chill, as Jack and I sort of put our heads down, earbuds in, trying to keep pace. They went quickly; it was where I started feeling hungry and spent my minutes plotting the post-race meal of filet mignon and shrimp. I probably spent 6 whole minutes figuring out what spices I wanted on my steak.
At Mile 12, we had a gorgeous view of the city and crossed a bridge going back into downtown. U2's "City of Blinding Lights" just happened to pop up on my MP3 player. Yes, my MP3 player. Jack found our old MP3 player from 2008 and it's been a wonderful time capsule for my training! Most of the songs have a good cadence for exercising and it's a hoot to realize how much I must have liked the Black Eyed Peas in 2008. Regardless, Bono helped me glide into mile 13, the home stretch.
Mile 13 was pretty surreal. Checkered flags line the road and the crowd cheers you on! People read your race bib and call you by name. It's so much fun and electric at the finish line. About a half-mile out, with the finish line in sight, Jack yells over, "Hell, let's run and finish this thing!!"
After 13 miles, the soles on your shoes feel like they are .0001 inches thick. I was seriously afraid of tripping and needing a medic on the finish line. But we ran, we finished well under our expected time, and no, I didn't trip. All I wanted to accomplish with this race was 1) finishing and 2) not barfing.
Mission accomplished. Both of them!
Yesterday afternoon and evening were a bit rough, as was this morning. But the human body is remarkable in that it heals from all the hard work of a half-marathon. All of the sit-stand-kneel action in church this morning was challenging but we are feeling better as the day goes on. This was Jack's first race (go big or go home, right?) and he's hooked.
So guess who is doing a half in fall and next year's Mini?
- These two in Indy who are no longer afraid of being picked up by the Struggle Bus.
On the race course OR in life.
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