During
my run today (FIVE MILES!!! I want to shout it from the rooftops that
I just ran FIVE miles!) I listened to possibly one of my favorite
episodes of This American Life yet. You can listen to it here. You
should probably just go listen to it because the re-cap I'm about to
do will not do it justice. But one of the stories was about a dad who
electrically rigged his car with a rotary phone dial in the middle of
the steering wheel, and when he would enter a “code” on the dial,
the car would start. He had a code for everything; if someone wanted
their window down or seat reclined, there was a code for that. It
took him months of work to set it all up. But in the end, he had a
car that only he could control, because only he knew the codes. His
daughter is a producer for the show, and as she's telling the story,
she talks about how everyone in the family has heard the story
multiple times. They have parts of it memorized. Her dad is so proud
of this car he tricked out 50+ years ago. He will tell anyone who
will listen. And the moral of his story was that you can do ANYTHING
if you set your mind to it however weird it seems.
This
struck me for two reasons.
First,
I have one of those dads. His brain wires don't really cross
correctly anymore (Parkinson's and being 91 – booooo), but in his
day my dad could weave a tale. I have heard some of his stories
probably 20 times. And every time, he would tell them to me like this
was the first time he had ever told anyone, let alone me. Even now,
he'll try to start a story, and he'll get confused about the details
or the time-line, and my mom and I are usually able to finish it for
him. Because we've heard it THAT MANY TIMES. But for me it's one of
those memories that isn't far enough in the past that it's cute or
funny yet. Like, it still annoys me to think about having to sit
through one of my dad's stories. It's not something I miss about him,
yet. Not sure if it ever will be.
Secondly,
I found myself likening my half-marathon to this dad's code-car. It
will take me months to train for, and then it will be done. I will be
so proud of myself, and I will want to tell everyone my tale. But
realistically, no one will really
want to hear it. They'll listen to me to make me feel good, and then
say “Wow, Laura, that's great! Good job!”. Which is great. It
really will make me feel good. But just like Car-Dad, I am the one
who will know all the details and everything that went into this
accomplishment. In the same way that the details of the car didn't
matter to anyone else, the details of what this marathon means to me
aren't important for anyone else. It's just for me. It's a ton of
work. It's getting up early, it's soreness, it's being super mindful
of nutrition, it's time management, and on and on and on.....
Training becomes a lifestyle. So for me, the moral of the story is that this is just for me, and always will be. But if I set my mind to it, I can do
it.
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