I am training to run the Twin Cities Marathon in October, although probably only in the loosest sense of the word ‘training.’
 
At the moment I hit the [Submit] button on my race registration, I was determined to be a prepared and motivated runner.  I researched how and what to eat.  I picked a training schedule (that I more or less followed… for a while, at least).  I read all about the physical damage training and the race will most likely do (buh-bye, toenails).  I had a conversation with a friend who developed pneumonia after his first marathon and had to be hospitalized.  Other people regaled their own tales of gastrointestinal malaise that lasted weeks after crossing the elusive finish line.  Non-runners like to play history professor and remind me that the first ever marathon runner died after he did it. 
 
Aside from the physical hardships of training and racing ‘The Race,’ there are some mental toughships, too.  Almost every article about racing warns runners about miles 20-25.  Somewhere, lurking in that span of distance, is the body’s desire to give up.  And, unfortunately, no matter how smart the runner, one’s mind can be easily persuaded to give up by throbbing, weakened legs and blistered, bloody feet. 
 
What most articles seem to fail to mention, or that I felt completely unprepared for, was the mental toughness that training takes.  I don’t have to be tough for only 5 hours. I have to be cognizant of my marathon goal morning, noon, and night for weeks. Weeks!  The most difficult part— the aspect of training that has damaged my psyche more than anything probably— is that at some point in training running became this wretched chore.  I had never in my short running career loathed the idea of running even 2 miles.  I had always been excited to share my training successes for past events like the Buffalo Triathlon and the Great River Ragnar Relay, but I was reluctant to enter a conversation about my marathon training.  It began to feel like work and that broke my heart.
 
For several weeks I thought I had ruined running out of the foolish pride of wanting to complete a marathon.  I felt certain that running would forever be an obligation rather than an opportunity.  I completed runs hastily without paying attention to whether my body needed to slow down or had the juice to go an extra mile.  I was so focused on getting the run over with and I ended up with a handful of minor (but preventable) injuries. I had ruined my passion for a sunrise run through my neighborhood. The loss of that enthusiasm for the sport broke my spirit and I mourned the certain death of the enjoyment I ever gained from running.  One day, I shed tears over the 5K fun runs of the future that I would never sign up for. 
 
I would love for this part of my story to read as follows: But despite all the doubt and fear, I never gave up and I kept running each day until I was a little stronger… and there were rainbows and unicorns everywhere… the whole world was made of gumdrops and smiling faces… blah blah blah.
 
It was not so.  I did give up.  And more than once.  For weeks at a time sometimes.  And for many days, regarding my running, the world seemed to consist only of hills, rain, other runners that were faster than me, and blood blisters.
 
But just as suddenly as the dark clouds of marathon training fell over me, they lifted and eventually gave way to… well, partly cloudy skies with a chance of rain.  Because it is still hard and the opportunities to give up are plentiful. And tempting. But the opportunities to love it are plentiful too.  Just yesterday I ran along the Mighty Miss’ and got to absorb patio parties, parents cycling with their kids, rowing practice on the river, a live band, people doing yard work— all the lovely things that make my community special.  And for a brief, blessed few minutes, as I crossed the Lake Street bridge between Minneapolis and Saint Paul, I glanced over to the sun setting behind my very own version of Emerald City: the Minneapolis skyline. And just two days prior I ran around a hometown park with my mom, a new runner with whom I am always excited to share my passion for this sport. 
 
In a recent fit of clarity about the race, I have discovered that the training process really seems to mimic what the race itself will be like: the road will be long, the course will have hills, and there will be miles 20-25.  But there is always a finish line.
 
If you think life is tough, run a marathon. If you still think life is tough, run another one, only faster.