Kinda like childbirth.

Signing Up

Signing up for the race is like looking at those two lines on the pregnancy test. It is hard to decide whether to feel thrilled or terrified, so why not both? ‘What am I getting myself into?‘ you may think. Then you woman up and purchase the ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ pregnancy bible and obsess over every little detail of your little peanut. Or…you just kinda forget about the whole thing for a few weeks and go on with your life as usual, minus things like sushi and alcohol.

Preparation

As the weeks wear on, the flutters of new life surface. Sometimes the training is a kick in the ribs. Sometimes it feels awesome. Other times you are huddled over the porcelain god and praying for the whole experience to be over. ‘This will all be worth it’, you whisper to yourself through sweat and tears and misery.

That final month of pregnancy is the literal worst. Anticipation muddles with anxiety. The due date approaches both with lightning speed and as slow as a snail. Hospital bags are packed, re-packed, and triple checked for necessities. Plans are made with the hopes they will go smoothly.

Race Day Beginning

Then…then you show up to the hospital (or the start line). Plans mostly go out the window. With an “AROO! AROO! AROO!”, a starting gun, a horn, or whistle, everything begins. The first mile or two everything is enjoyable. Look at the purple flowers (don’t they remind you of ‘Winnie the Pooh’?)…see the cute baby goats. By the halfway point, you still feel great. The time is passing fairly quickly and it feels like all the training actually did pay off. Lamaze classes? Check . Breathing just fine.

The Wall. Where is my epidural?

Somewhere after the halfway point, the pain intensifies. You know it has to be almost over but it isn’t over yet. Turning back isn’t an option…so, just keep pushing. The pain mixed with the sweat and the fear and the self doubt has a feedback loop in the back of mind repeating, ‘so why did you think this was a good idea?’ and ‘you sure you got this?‘ among other questionable things. Yet, you are all in. Fully dilated and in the home stretch. The doctor is telling you to push. Screaming obscenities is a real option. One more push just doesn’t seem feasible. Heart rate through the roof. Breathing shallow. Probably malnourished and dehydrated, but no desire to eat or drink. If you took any medications…they have long worn off by now.

But…

You do it. Give that final push. Hear the cry of new life. Something is born both days. A new life–or a new you. Once everything is all over and the dust has settled, there is a sweet relief. A sense of accomplishment. ‘I did that. I DID that.’ Either way, a new person emerges from the suffering. A new person entirely different than the one who began the journey. A better person, a wiser person, a more determined person.

The Aftermath

Just like looking at a new baby erases all memories of the suffering that brought them into the world, time erases all harsh memories of the suffering endured during a race. During the suffering, everyone just wants the event to be over. Doesn’t matter how much anyone trained, it is hard to stay uncomfortable. Mentally and physically. Give it a day or so. Let the soreness subside. On the other side of that, a crazy thing happens.

Magic, sure. There is probably a scientific explanation for what happens to our brains on the other side of discomfort. But while the initial pain and soreness fades, the memories of the euphoric and accomplished feelings at the finish line remain. Those muddy fingers are washed clean, that medal hangs in a proud display, the t-shirt is worn to show the world what you did. That sweet, cuddly baby is paraded around to family and friends, and everyone is in awe of the new life created.

You may have shouted obscenities at your spouse in the heat of the moment during labor. Maybe you questioned your decision making abilities. Did you really mean to get into this? Then labor is finished. The line is crossed.

And the next journey begins.

The post On to the next first appeared on Sore Not Sorry.

“When you have a great and difficult task, something perhaps almost impossible, if you only work a little at a time, every day a little, suddenly the work will finish itself.”

Karen Blixen

Deciding how to prepare myself mentally for the wall I know is coming in a week or two is a battle in and of itself. Around Day 50, I just want the experience to be over. My self-talk revolves around, ‘hey you’ve done 50 days, that is amazing!’ and ‘why would you want to keep going? What do you have to prove?’

One half the battle … Keep your promises

I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, but I do have to keep promises to myself. For the longest time, I would tell myself I would do something, whether it be pursuing a goal or vision, finally buckling down and focusing on health, or even something as simple as keeping a home routine so my house was clean and comfortable most of the time. I planned, prepped, visualized, but didn’t follow through and keep my promise. Excuses became my self-talk.

Every day I complete these tasks is one more day I keep my promise to myself to finish strong. That means more to me than anything, and is why I started this program to begin with.

Another half of the battle … Decide

Decide. One simple word with a lot of meaning: To choose something, especially after thinking carefully about several possibilities. Once you decide your course of action, you don’t have to think about it anymore. You don’t have to have an internal debate over how much water you should drink, or how much protein you should eat, or whether you should have a glass of wine on Thursday night or save it for the weekend. This program makes those decisions easy–just follow the rules–but what about when the program is over? Make your own rules and decide to stick to them. And keep your promises. Don’t talk yourself into a big piece of chocolate cake when you promised yourself you would not go over X grams of sugar per day.

As for me, I needed this reminder as much as anyone else. I am not going to second guess or question my decision to complete this program. I am just going to do it.

The post Half the battle first appeared on Sore Not Sorry.