This last week, On Being (one of my favorite programs) featured a piece I recorded with “Creating Our Own Lives.” I’m incredibly honored. The episode is below.
This past week, as I prepare for my 10th marathon, Kauai, this being shared feels especially sweet.
I’ve been thinking a lot about strength and vulnerability this week. It’s a frequent theme in my writing.
And re-listening to this made me realize something important: the road can be a brutal place.
If my race reports have shown me anything, it’s that racing doesn’t always feel like sunshine and butterflies. Sometimes it’s hard. It’s bloody. It can make you cry. Hell, it will make you cry.
What running also taught me was the value of getting back up when we fall.
It’s something I’ve noticed before, but it was a reminder I needed this week.
Here’s the thing: the road is going to be there, regard of how we feel. Riddled with ankle-breaking potholes and unforeseen dangers, the road is always going to be there in its imperfect splendor. The only way to escape the journey is to wallow on the sidelines and give up, but I’ve never been the sitting-still kind.
So, even on the days that are hot and horrid, where I drip sweat everywhere; or the days I am running from monsters who eventually catch me, and find me sobbing on street corners; or days where the run feels like fire, and I am made of sunlight streaming the sky, the fact remains: the road needs to be run.
The only thing I control is whether I keep going or not.
I decide: do I stay down on the sidelines, or do I get up and begin the process of running back to my self? The self that is powerful, has a soul forged by the beating of sole-to-pavement, the one who has broken every barrier she placed down on herself. Do I become her again?
Then, I look down at the road, riddled with potholes but heading towards the horizon. I get up, smile, and begin the journey once more.