The song begins, “One is the loneliest number.” Like the last doughnut in a crumb-strewn box, solitary figures evoke sadness. But one thing I’ve learned from running is the importance of going it alone. Not to diminish contributions of friends and family. If given the choice, I would have all my pals trail running. My husband often rides his bike alongside me on long runs as my own personal pacer and gatorade camel. Everyone in my life knows that Saturday mornings belong to the long run, and their schedules bend around this inevitable event like willow branches against a bulldozer.
No doubt, people I love love me enough to put up with my shenanigans. They have made accomplishing my running goals a hundred times easier than it would have been otherwise. But in the end, at mile 1, 5, 15, 30, whatever that mile is for you, it’s just you and your legs and the wall of exhaustion. Which, granted, sounds bad, a wall constructed brick by brick of every apprehension, former residence: your heart. But it’s actually good because this is the test that revels how committed you are to your goals. Many of my friends whom I run with off and on discover that maybe they aren’t that serious about running. There’s nothing wrong with that. Everyone’s priorities are different, we’re different people. Because of this, though, I’ve realized that unreservedly relying on other people can be detrimental to your own growth.
Living should be a creative act. I construct the narrative of my own life. The more creative risks I take, the more fulfilling life is. I see youtube as both a tool and a hindrance to this end. Is my existence improved by videos of people farting on each other?, heck yes. But one thing I worry about is getting too caught up in what other people are doing, in other people’s narratives. Because, let’s face it, there are far more articulate people in the world, so the temptation is to inhabit the narratives of others instead of working on my own life, from the inside out. It’s a slippery slope because it’s important to learn from other people but at the same time be your own teacher. In this way, I think that joining the challenge has been a good barometer by which to test myself, a brick wall I can bang my head against. Which, again, I know sounds bad, but I find that I come out on the other side recommitted to writing my own life. As unartistic and lame the results, they’re mine. Right now my novel begins, “It’s morning, still dark, she steps out the door and begins to run.” All of my teammates too have their novels that start with different sentences. Thank god. Or what an uninteresting read it would be.
Tanya (teesque)
