The Race

I feel like I'm the person training for a marathon. I want to run in the marathon because I enjoy the act of running and I feel like that is where I should focus my energy. So I train and I sprint and I practice. I feel good. I feel like this is something I can do. My body welcomes the routine. I notice myself getting stronger and faster and a confidence is beginning to bloom within me. The runs are longer and I am building stamina. I'm going farther than I ever have before. 

Then the morning of the marathon comes and I feel ready. It's time to start and I run...

...but I quickly fall behind. Everyone is faster than me. Everyone is younger and stronger. They've been training longer. I forget about all I've achieved. I'm going at my full speed and my muscles ache and my lungs burn and I feel useless. I'm slowing down and finally I give up half way. What's the point? I'm not going to win anyway. I'm in last place. 

I can't remember what I'm doing this for. I can't remember how good this used to feel. Right now everything is pain and I feel lost. There are needles poking my sides and so I catch my breath. In the act of breathing I remember that all I wanted to do was enjoy the run, see the places it took me. I never once thought about the finish line. But that's simply because I always felt I would finish. In my own time. At my own pace. It was the journey that mattered and the beauty of getting to where I wanted to go. Who am I competing with? This path is one of solitude. I'm doing this for me. 

So I take a deep breath and I let it go. I begin to run. I look at the sights around me. I savor the sound of my feet hitting the pavement. My heart is pounding and its rhythm sings in my ears. Time is moving but I'm not counting down. I'm not tracking each mile. I keep going and someway, somehow I find myself at the finish line. I feel like I've won first place.