Sometimes you hear people say: « I think the universe is trying to tell me something. » Were I this type of person, then this winter I would have said that I think the universe is trying to tell me that I should give up my dream of running the Paris marathon on April third. First, I tore my calf muscle on January eighteenth. Then two weeks later, due to my limp, I had a pretty nasty spill that left me with the most grotesque black eye I have only ever seen in the Rocky movies. In fact I still have discolouration, a bump and tenderness and it is more than two months later. So yeah. It was bad.
But I am not this type of person. I kept my faith. Instead of feeling defeat and pessimism, I would say: « It’s going to be a nail-biter, folks! » I didn’t know how I would fare at the marathon, my first in three years, and after missing forty days of training due to my injury. But not once did I consider not trying my damnedest to find out.
And so, with only minimal training, my longest training run having only been 18 kilometres and only a handful of times, but with a whole lot of heart and belief and perseverance and determination, I came, I ran, I succeeded.
The first 28 kilometres were easy, kilometre 28 to 31 were quite difficult, 31 to 38 were fairly easy again, and 38 to 40 were awful, and 40 to 42 were hell. And then I crossed that finish line and it was heaven. It’s truly as if the finish line of a marathon is a portal between these two polar opposite worlds.
So you see. The universe tells us nothing. It is we who decide what its events will say in our story. We are the authors. I chose to view my mishaps only as juicy details for my future success story. This is that story. I did it! I did it! I did it!
My niece asked me: « Now will you run another one? » Pfffffffttt! This was my 52nd marathon but my first in three years. Is this chapter two in my marathon career? « Good question, » I replied. But I have this feeling.
Oh, man. Here we go again! 😃😜😍