Everybody knows I've got a 32-mile ultramarathon coming up on Dec. 5. I already know that the race will be a grind to be taken one mile at a time. When you run a race of any distance, there are two kinds of rewards offered. One goes to winners. These runners have either won the race or won their age group. Then there are medals that are awarded to everyone who finishes the race, people whose best efforts were just that -- best efforts. For them, a medal is a symbol of accomplishment. Medals often become prized possessions. Mine hang on a banister.
I don't use the glass-covered cases that some runners have. I admire those displays, but my medals just sort of exist there. Nevertheless, they serve to remind me of the many dozens of races that have brought great inspiration to my life and the thousands of steps taken toward countless finish lines. One medal hanging here is from my first marathon. I can tell you without hesitation that the winner of the race that day couldn't have felt any better receiving his gold medal than I did finishing the Flying Pig Marathon for the first time.
Here's where I'm going with this. Whenever you enter a competition, you will either run it or you will race it. You will either run to enjoy the experience, or you will race it to win it or get a PR. The glamor of the sport belongs to the winner. But the glory belongs to any one of us. I've only truly "raced" one of the 20 marathons I've been in. It was the St. George Marathon in Utah. It was a point to point race from high elevation down to the city of St. George. The course was, in other words, basically all downhill except for Veyo Mountain.
That day I set a marathon PR. I've never broken it since.
On the other hand, last May I ran the Freight Train Ultramarathon in Farmville. I came in 79th out of 88 finishers. I was 4 and a half hours slower than the first place finisher and 2 hours faster than the last place finisher. That day the only person I was running against was myself. It was my greatest effort on one of the greatest days of my life. At about mile 25 my brain said I didn't have anything left. My will said there is always something left. Everytime you cross a fish line you are both exhausted and satisfied. You'd done it. You'd finished. You went the distance. You faced the obstacles, overcame your fears, pushed yourself to the limit, and emerged victorious. My medals hang on my bannister not to be shown to anyone else but to remind me of my own journey not only as a runner but as a person. I prize them, not for what they are, but for what they mean.
Everyone in a race is a winner. Thus, everyone who finishes a race deserves their medal, especially those farthest back who had to fight the agony for an additional period of time. The time on the clock is not a reflection of the kind of runner you are. It's merely the time you took to cover the distance that day. No more, no less. Whether you set out to compete or simply to run, be proud of your race.
P.S. Today's miles and steps. One day closer toward testing my mettle.
