from mile to marathon

The journey of a thousand leagues begins from beneath your feet.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013


A few months after Berlin I got mail from Germany - a booklet with photos, stories, statistics, and results, and also two or three different-format diplomas with my own splits and times, which was puzzling, since one should have sufficed.

It was a good thing they sent that though, since my placement was spelled out. Apparently I was among the first 7,000 women, and somewhere in the first hundred after the first 31,000 participants, which makes much more sense than what I had figured out myself.

My chip time was 5:03:13. This is not among my worst marathons, but for some reason I wanted to finish this sub-five, and it rankled that I hadn't succeeded. Not that it makes any difference whatsoever. I usually don't care too much what my time is. I just run. I am slow, I know it, and it's not that big a deal. Only once, only once I strived for a personal best - that was Spearfish, SD. I did it, and that was fine.

In Berlin, the fastest course in the world, I didn't aim for a personal best. Five hours was good enough for me. That might be slow for anyone else, but it's fast for me, and what I wanted.

After it was over and done I couldn't understand how in Berlin, with all the effort and anticipation I put in, I was only seconds faster than in Provo, where I limped half the course.

Sometimes it's like that, I know.

Not that is really matters. It's just numbers.


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