Writing Is Like Running A Marathon

Part 2

Two years into my book, a co-worker said he was running the St. Louis Marathon, and – for the first time in my life, despite loving sports and yet being decidedly un-athletic – I signed up. I trained for a year. I trained in the grueling St. Louis humidity. I got better and better. My book got better and better. I got in the best shape of my life. And, despite never having been a runner before in my life, I set a goal of a 7:30/minute and a sub 3:30/hours marathon time.

Like writing a book, it didn’t seem possible. And yet …

I did it.

I finished my first marathon in a time of 3:28.38, under 7:30 a mile.

I remember the last few miles as if they were yesterday. In training for a marathon, your longest training run is typically 21 or 22 miles. You never actually run the full 26.2 miles, and there is a piece of you that — no matter how well you’ve trained — still doubts.

Can I actually finish?

Mile 22 through 26.2 was like running in a fog. Each new mile was a mystery, a test of my legs, breathing, stamina, willpower. As I was running, I saw runners ahead of me begin to stop and walk. Some headed to the sides for water and to sit for a moment. I kept — as my grampa taught me — my head down and kept running.

When I would look up, I saw that I was passing runners who had been ahead of me the whole race. I felt like a robot. My pace was locked in. I’d done the work. All that was left was to prove it to myself.

All that was left was to finish.

At mile 25, I heard my name being called. My husband, Gary, and my entire family, were screaming for me, holding up signs. They had shown up at various mile markers throughout the marathon, but they were there when I needed them most. Gary actually ran into the street and began running with me.

“You got this!” he said. “You’ve always had it inside. Now you’re showing the world. Run, Wade! Finish strong!”

And I did.

And when I finished, I drank champagne, ate cake and got so giddy and dizzy that the world spun.

Because I knew I could finish. And not just finish, but finish with a flourish. The training was grueling. The after-work and weekend runs.

But the reward for all the work was worth it. Each step was leading somewhere, to a new exciting journey, a new path … a new me.

I woke the next morning, sore and tired, but exhilarated.

Now it was time to finish my book.

And I did. With a flourish.

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I realized that writing a book is just like running a marathon.

Most people think about doing it but never try. Many people quit before they start. Many quit before they finish.

Is any dream easy? No.

Is it within your grasp? Yes.

But you must take that first step, you must write that first word, you must — more than anything — believe in yourself and that dream.