Second hand joy

I always thought there was nothing better than achieving a goal you’ve worked really hard for.

Turns out, I was wrong.

There is something better.

Watching a client and friend achieve something she genuinely thought was impossible 12 months earlier.

That second hand joy? It’s hard to beat.

Twelve months ago, I was in a car with the Managing Director of an international charity. One of the ways her organisation raises money is by offering marathon entries to runners who commit to fundraising.

She had just watched her first World Marathon Major live.

For the non runners amongst you, the World Marathon Majors are basically the rock concerts of running. Tens of thousands of runners, enormous crowds, elite athletes flying past at speeds most of us would struggle to maintain on a bike, alongside everyday people doing something extraordinary.

The atmosphere is electric.

Anyway, I digress…

We were driving home, still on a high from the day, when she suddenly announced:

“That was so inspiring. It makes me want to run a marathon.”

Now, we are talking about a 56 year old woman who has historically been reluctant to chase after her dog when it runs off to make a new friend at the park.

And she was proposing running 42.2 kilometres.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, she had a very receptive audience sitting beside her.

“What a FABULOUS idea!” I exclaimed.

“You can absolutely do this. We’ve got a year. I’ll write you a program. We’ll combine running and strength training and we’ll get you across that finish line.”

My husband, who was also in the car, sorry darling, but you are integral to this story, laughed.

“Don’t listen to my wife. She thinks anything is possible. You’re not a runner. This is not the challenge for you.”

Oh dear.

Wrong thing to say.

Because if my friend is anything, she is tenacious.

I could practically hear her inner dialogue:

Stuff you. I’ll show you.

“Watch me,” she said.

And she signed up.

Two weeks later…

My phone rang.

“Nat. I’ve told people I’m doing the marathon.”

Pause.

“Slight issue.”

“I ran around the block. It was BLOODY AWFUL. I had to stop. My lungs were screaming. How the f$#@ am I going to run a marathon? Why did I agree to this? And now I’ve told everyone, so I CAN’T BACK OUT.”

Ahhhhhhhhh.

Excellent.

Training was officially underway.

Fast forward 100 days…

Running three times a week.

10km becoming a very doable distance.

Strength training twice a week.

Seeing a sports physio whenever a niggle appeared.

Starting to realise that maybe, just maybe, she actually was a runner.

Fast forward 200 days…

Running four times a week.

15km comfortable.

Fuelling properly.

Still strength training twice a week.

Understanding the runner memes about toenails being an optional extra.

Becoming very friendly with the sports physio and his sidekick, the massage therapist.

The transformation was happening.

Not just physically.

Fast forward 350 days…

Still running.

Still strength training.

Now swapping funny Instagram reels with the sports physio.

Joined a runners’ Facebook group.

Has an opinion on every running gel on the market.

Knows words like “taper”, “negative split” and “carb loading”.

The woman who couldn’t run around the block was now discussing race strategy.

And then came race day.

4.30am: Feeling physically ill.

6.15am: Excited. Nervous. Ready.

The starter’s gun goes off.

7.00am: Feeling good.

8.00am: Feeling like there is a loooooong way to go.

10.00am: Emotional.

This is real.

I’m doing this.

11.35am: She crosses the finish line.

A marathoner.

She later told me that the elation, emotion and sheer high of crossing that finish line was something she could only compare to childbirth.

And watching her do it?

That was my finish line too.

Not because I ran the kilometres. I didn’t.

She did every single one of them.

She got up for the training runs. She lifted the weights. She dealt with the niggles, the physio appointments, the long runs, the bad runs, the gels and presumably the increasingly questionable toenails.

But I got the enormous privilege of watching someone completely rewrite the story she had told herself about what she was capable of.

“I’m not a runner” became “I’m a marathoner.”

And that, to me, is what training is really about.

We can get very caught up in kilos lifted, kilometres run, PBs, body composition and numbers on watches.

But sometimes the biggest achievement is changing the way you see yourself.

At 56, she didn’t decide she was too old to start.

She didn’t need to have been sporty at school.

She didn’t need a history of running.

She started with one truly awful lap around the block.

Then she did another.

And another.

Until eventually those laps added up to 42.2km.

So perhaps there’s something you’ve quietly decided is “not for you”.

Maybe it’s running.

Maybe it’s lifting a heavy barbell.

Maybe it’s doing a push up, hiking a mountain, entering an event or simply becoming stronger than you’ve ever been before.

You don’t have to know today exactly how you’re going to get there.

You just have to be willing to start.

And if someone tells you that you can’t?

Well…

“Watch me” seems to be a pretty effective training plan.

Footnote: I’d love to include a photo here of her crossing the finish line, because it captures the moment perfectly. But this isn’t her blog, it’s mine, and her story being shared doesn’t automatically mean her photo should be. So you’ll just have to picture it. Trust me, it was a good one.