“I originally pictured the finish line as a goal. But the real finish is so much further than the finish line. Its at the Pickle Barrel for the after party. Its Sunday when those racers take the field. Its next month when people are still asking “Well how bad was it? Really.” Its next year at the Amesbury Sprint. The NJ Super and at the Death Race. The finish will be every single day after the race, whether its training for another race or just having a run. It will be that sense of pride when I talk with these other crazy Spartans and we smile at the word “Crazy”. The finish line is so much more than an inflated arch. Its that accomplishment of completing the task, what ever the task maybe.”
The danger of writing something down is reflection. I may or may not have created my own destiny. Made a self-fulfilling prophesy, or simply slapped that bitch Karma one to many times on her ass. For what ever reason I played till the chips were down, the house wasn’t dealing anymore cards, and they were calling in their marker. They say you have to know when to hold ’em, fold ’em, walk away or run. Well I didn’t hold, fold or walk. They just wouldn’t let me run any more. The Ugly lights got turned on and the race director Mike Morris said “Sorry folks the parks closed. The Moose at the front should have told you”
But the end never reflects the effort. Even now in my head my mind is still running that course. My body is in a battered state, yet I know if I could just throw on a pair of shoes I could drag myself back into a moving state. So where am I, what has happened, where to I go now. Well the smart man goes to Google. A smart woman taught me that.
Here’s what I found: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. These are the 5 accepted stages of grief and loss. “Although presented in a set order, they are not necessarily experienced in that order. In addition, most people cycle through each stage multiple times.”
Denial even my own initial reaction of telling myself “I am not denying this, I accept that I didn’t finish” is in fact the denial. Its denying myself the pain of the not finishing, to try to jump over to acceptance and move on. There’s nothing healthy about that.
Anger is easy I am full of it! But what I am not full of is blame. There is only one person responsible for me not finishing: ME. Not the course, I had the endurance to continue, even on a faster pace than my first lap. Not Spartan Race; they had a rule they enforced it, I fell on the wrong side of it. I do not blame my friends who I freely chose to stay with, staying with them may have been the reason I had that second wind and the energy to go on. No, blame is a selfish emotion, it finds fault in others and absolves the self of wrong.
Bargaining, I’ll be going through this little hell for a while. Oddly enough not on the course. When I started that second lap I damn well knew it was a “suicide run” I had no idea how long I was going to be able to go, but I had a pretty good idea they weren’t going to let me get far. I went anyway because that is what I came to do.
Depression. Do I really need to delve into this one? If your not up to speed on my thoughts on this by now read on it becomes self apparent.
Acceptance. I accepted this long before I should have and this why I am writing. I have accepted my DNF graciously. And that is not the right way. I do not and will not accept this as a defeat, as quitting, or as failing. I simply ran but oddly enough ran out of time.
I was accepted to undertake a great challenge. An experience for a life time. In an activity that I truly love, I, me, the little runner that couldn’t was given the opportunity to bite off as much as I could, and choke on my own hubris. The names I was set next to. Athletes of the highest caliber. Training regimes which rival Olympic athletes, even Olympic Athletes! And me. Chugga chugga pokey pokey 30 minute 5k. What the hell was I thinking. 26 miles over a mountain! I really thought I could do it. I prepared a little, had some quality equipment and my little bucket of round 2 items.
I’m not in the mood for writing a recap. I will say when we started I felt like ass. And I knew the initial accent would be tough. I didn’t speculate that it would be as tough as it was. But that first glorious down hill portion set the pace in my mind. I was going to finish! My character had other plans. I fell back onto my personal training and habits, which is to place others first and myself second. It wasn’t until it was too late did I make the hard choice to leave. It was personally my lowest moment. After that I made a unbelievable accent to the summit, across it and then flew like a damn dive bombing eagle down the back side. People complained how bad it was but I couldn’t tell you, For myself I never saw it. I looked at the ground for milliseconds at a time: Enough to decide if the foot hold would support 50% of my weight or less. Yes Jesus walked on water but I was doing my damnedest to run over mud and stay clean. My shoe and shirts swap at the Start/Finish zone ate some time, and I ate too. Everything that was left in my pack and more. I washed it down with warm PBR. I looked on stunned at other runners who pulled the plug. And I saw one undefeated soul. We knew it was hopeless but out we went. What took me hours earlier took less than 2 on my second lap. We could have gone faster still but had linked up with yet another forlorn group. It was all for not however. Arguing with rules is not my style. Being pulled was not a surprise or anything, we knew there would be time hacks. That’s life. Shit happens.
I only want one thing and one thing only. Another shot at it. In my personal life this is going to be twice as hard. But I am a blessed man. I am thankful for all that is set before me. Challenges and rewards alike. I just want a chance to fix my choices and be able to put the 100% at it again. If I get some flak about that. Than I might enter back into Anger.