Running Towards the Finish Line

Each mile I run reflects my life struggles and victories.

When running a marathon, that first mile is always the toughest. It is physically and mentally challenging to get started. You see that run ahead of you and your mind starts to remind you of your weakness. You’re not capable of this. You’ll never finish. Your mind convinces you that your body isn’t ready. Your legs feel weak, muscles tight. You see your competition and you know that they’re faster and stronger than you. But then you are reminded that “It's very hard, in the beginning, to understand that the whole idea is not to beat the other runners. Eventually, you learn that the competition is against the little voice inside you that wants you to quit” (George Sheehan.)

During the next few miles, you’re racing. You're pushing. You stop looking at the runners next to you and start looking toward the ones ahead of you. You start working towards catching the one and going to the next. The endorphins have set in and your feel good. You feel good about your chances of winning your age group and getting that personal record. You look at your pace and you feel as though you can go faster than your planned pace so you run a little faster. You scoff at your runner friend who suggested to not run faster than the pace that you trained to run. You feel great. You’re reminded that “success means having the courage, the determination, and the will to become the person you believe you were meant to be” (George Sheehan).

Around the 10th mile, you feel a stitch in your side. You wince and back off. You start to regret running that faster pace. You hear in your head your friend laughing at you, saying “I told you to not run faster than what you trained for.” You fall off the pace. Runners start to pass you. Self-doubt re-enters. You consider dropping out of the race.

At mile 13 you realize that you’ve reached the halfway point and you have two simultaneous thoughts: “awesome, I’m halfway there” and “crap, I’m only halfway there.” It is that balance of joy and despair, hope and anguish. You are proud of what you’ve accomplished and scared of what lies ahead. Your sense of accomplishment inspires you to lengthen your stride slightly. Your fear causes your arms to tense and swing slower. You are reminded that “The mind's first step to self-awareness must be through the body” (George Sheehan.)

Miles 14 through 18 you settle in. You are on autopilot, getting into a routine, letting your muscles, legs, arms, and body take over the run. Muscle memory keeps you going. You just put one foot in front of the other. You have made friends by this time. People who have been with you from the beginning. There’s a lot of laughing and smiling during these miles.

Miles 18 through 20 you are at peace with the world. Running becomes your monastery, your retreat. You commune with the world around you. You listen to the feet of the runners around you. You watch the leaves fall. You see the orange glow of the sun over the hill. You see the soaring beauty of the birds. You have a sense of renewal. There is a sense of calm about you.

Then mile 20 hits you like a wall. The mile marker smacks you in the face and you grit your teeth. The calm flees and is replaced with anguish. You are aware of the frail nature of the respite. It was an oasis in the desert and now you are fighting for every step you take. Your feet become like cement and you struggle to lift them off the ground. You lose the ability to think clearly. Your chest hurts. Your arms ache. Your shoulders drop. You feel defeated.

Mile 21 you are reminded of those who went before you. You think of your heroes. You see your Father at the 21-mile marker cheering you on. You are grateful to him. You stand a little taller. You find a sense of renewal and overcome the darkness felt at mile 20. You made it past the most difficult part of the run. The wall is behind you. Only the finish line where your loved ones await matters. You smile.

For the next few miles, you feel good. You can’t stop now. You’ve endured so much. You’ve experienced joy and pain. You have seen failure and renewal. The pain is behind you. You are given treats to give you energy. They are de-li-cious.

At mile 24 you die. Darkness envelopes you. You are all alone. There are no other runners beside you. You feel nothing. You hear nothing. There is no one to cheer you. You should feel scared but you’re not. You feel at peace.

The 26th mile is always the best mile. It is the end. The road is lined with people cheering you on. Your pace quickens as you are inspired by their cheering. You have conquered the hills. You ran through the wall. The 26th mile is your victory lap. You have finished the race. You were a good and faithful servant to the run. You are joined by the runners who have already finished the race. They run beside you, patting you on the back. As you near the finish line you see your loved ones waiting for you. They welcome you with open arms. As you cross the finish line, they place the medal around your neck. You glance at the clock, making note of your time but caring little about it. You have won the race.

And that is the Transformative Power of the Run.

Written in loving memory of my father-in-law, Vincent A. Knaust, Sr.

May 10, 1931 ~ October 11, 2022 (age 91)