the last six miles

When I first embraced the idea of smiling at mile twenty, I had no idea what that implied.

I had not yet run ten miles. A year later, when I ran my first marathon at Shiprock, I was just as clueless. I hit the wall at mile twenty, without any inkling about the wall awaiting to be hit. Only afterwards did I learn that muscle reserves get depleted thereabouts, and from then on, unless you fuel wisely, you are running on empty. Yes, I was that ignorant.

I thought the smile at mile twenty bloomed from the twenty miles left behind. With so much terrain already covered, the last six miles would inevitably follow, because it did not make sense to falter at that point.

Now I know that is the point where one is prone to falter.

Only now I know that the smile at mile twenty arises from the anticipation of the territory ahead. With a little bit of judicious training, twenty miles, more or less, are a given. It is the stretch beyond this virtual breaking point that we cherish. At the core of our being, the prospect of running further is not what we dread. It is what we relish. It justifies why we are there, on track, undeterred, running. It is what we run for.

The pure motivation to smile.