Desire, Procrastination, Dedication, Frustration, Exhaustion

Ever since Josh won a BYU Intramural Championship t-shirt, I wanted one. I wanted one bad. I had hopes with each team I joined: kickball, volleyball, even inner tube water polo. But no luck. Then I learned that you could earn a shirt by logging in 150 miles of running in a semester. (In the rules, running one mile could also be substituted with three miles of biking.) With my new goal of completing a half-marathon in June, I thought this would be very do-able.

While Josh went to his raquetball class every Monday and Wednesday mornings, I would run laps on the indoor track. Well, it started as prancing and eventually advanced to trotting and jogging. But my outer hips would hurt and my calves would be tight and it was hard to breathe. So Josh helped me pick out a good pair of running shoes and I had renewed motivation to work through the expected aches and pains. But then it got too cold or I didn't feel well or I was too busy/sleepy/grumpy/dopey...

And that's how I was left with 22 miles to finish in one day. Less than one day. By 4pm. Ideally 3pm.

Tuesday, March 13th, was a dreaded day. I went to bed the night before nervous and mad. I was mad that I had to run/bike 22 miles. I'd never even logged 10 miles before. And I was really nervous that I wouldn't make it. What if I gave up or died from exhaustion on the treadmill? What if I worked really hard but still missed the cut-off time, the time that the intramural office closed? And I was mad all over again because, well, I don't particularly like running. To me it's like eating bananas or beans--you do it because it's good for you.

I parked at the campus gym at 7:45am on Tuesday. My goal was to log in three to four miles every hour. It seemed like a plausible goal. My strategy was to run a mile on the treadmill and bike three miles on the stationary and switch back and forth. I felt like I would get decent rest by switching machines often and that the change in exercises would keep me fresh. But I didn't take into account that there would still be weight training classes and we'd get kicked out, that the other gym room's only stationary bike would be broken and frustrating to ride on, or that intermittently there would be a line waiting to get on a treadmill or a bike. So when the indoor track or the gym rooms weren't available, I would eat or take a nap. My motivation was waning. Josh stopped by the indoor track to cheer me on and bring me a peanut butter and honey sandwich. By then I was half-way through and grumpy. really grumpy. I knew I couldn't give up but I was also rather confident that I wouldn't finish in time. I certainly wasn't able to finish by 3pm so I could drive up to the Salt Lake Center with Josh and enjoy a nice, rejuvenating experience in Anthropologie. Eleven miles was still a long way to go. Josh left me to wallow in the consequences of my procrastination.

I went back to the gym, found an open treadmill, and started pounding away. I turned up the constant music in my i-pod and tried to drown out the sounds of my labored breathing. I ran and calculated the miles. I biked and calculated the miles. And after awhile the miles were shaving off. Eight. Then five. Then three miles. I knew I could do three miles. But that meant I would have already logged nineteen miles. Would my body still be able to keep up?

I biked four and a half miles and planned on running a mile and a half and finishing the remaining mileage on the bike. I thought about finishing it on the treadmill as a triumphant way to end the endurance but I was afraid of being tired. When I had reached 1.49 miles trotting on the treadmill, a guy sat down on the only bike in the gym room. I was devastated. I couldn't do another mile and a half. I hadn't mentally prepared myself to run the last three miles. I started getting emotional.

On my i-pod playlist is a large group of high-energy aerobic songs. One of them came on that I had never heard before. In an annoying sequence in any other situation the lyrics repeated, "Give it all you got! Give it all you got! Give it all you got!" I choked up a little. I sincerely felt that I was receiving help by someone greater than me. I couldn't understand why He would care about me killing myself for a t-shirt but I knew that He knew it was important to me. And of course, by then, it wasn't about the t-shirt. Okay. It was still like 75% about the shirt. It was really about accomplishing such a big goal...and the really big goal of 22 miles in one day, excuse me, less than one day.

After the song had ended I could imagine Dad rooting for me. He was standing beside the treadmill hollerin', "You go girl! Yeah! You've got it! You're lookin' good, girl...You're lookin' good!" It reminded me of the times that we would run on the tractor trails through the soybean fields in Alabama or when he'd cheer for me at my track meets or rub out my calves after hard practices or any other time where I'd put effort into something. And then tears were swelling up and it was getting even harder to breathe. I had a half-mile left.

A half-mile would have been five minutes at the pace I'd been going. And the clock said I had ten minutes before the intramural office closed. So I sped up from a 5.2 pace on the treadmill to a 7. I was tired. I was emotional from the strong desire to finish and the help I felt I was receiving. And I wanted it to be over. I wanted that t-shirt in my hands. With the last 30 seconds, the i-pod played "Jump Jump" by Kriss-Kross. It's mine and Josh's favorite song. Actually, it kind of marked the beginning of our relationship. I knew that I wanted to be with a boy who loved that song as much as I did. And right then I felt that it was Josh cheering me on at the very end. And then I started crying--an ugly mix of gasping and sobbing.
I finished the three miles, shuffled to the intramural office, told the girl I'd finished my miles (even though I hadn't officially calculated them), and after an unceremonious, "Oh good job. Way to finish it." she handed me the shirt. The shirt that was not as cool as Josh's shirt from last year. The shirt that looked more like a white "ThankYouThankYouThankYou" grocery bag. But the shirt that I had earned.
I plopped onto the bench and plugged in my miles on the calculator. 150.06666667 miles. I'd made it-- just barely but I'd completed it. And that day I had logged the equivalence of running a half marathon and biking a full marathon. What really scared me was that I felt like I could have done more if I'd had to. My legs could have kept going. I didn't have shin splits or cramps or snapped tendons/ligaments. My lungs were still working and my heart hadn't failed. I did it and could have done some more.

As I walked the mile from campus back to our apartment I called Josh and Dad and Mom and Darcy. I collapsed on my neighbor's floor, proudly showing Kate the shirt that I had earned. And she cheered for me.
That night I showered long and good. I scrubbed out the gray streaks of salt that caked throughout my hair. I think I washed off enough salt to sufficiently satisfy a tank of tropical fish. I melted onto the couch and struggled to stay awake watching rerun TV shows on Hulu. Josh came home from his last class and treated me like a queen. We picked up fast food and I devoured it like I've never eaten before. There was an element of ecstasy in that chicken gyro from Burger Supreme. Right before bed, Josh massaged my very tight muscles and I fell into a deep sleep.

The next day I had to practice a series of quick breathing techniques whenever I bent or folded my legs and other than sitting down or trying to stand up, I wasn't overwhelmingly sore. In fact, my muscles have only felt tight and strong since that workout. Three days later I went on a six mile jog with Jill up to the Provo temple and back.

It has been fabulous! I'm disappointed that I don't have a chiseled bod after all that work but I feel great! I'm happy! And go ahead and ask to see my BYU Intramural Championship t-shirt. I might even let you touch it.