Last week, I ran the Cellcom Green Bay half marathon. It was probably my fifth or sixth time participating in that event. Always a good race, I look forward to it every year. Especially the finishing lap around Lambeau Field, and the specialty beer at the finish line. (Bratwurst = not so much.)
This race is special to me for several reasons: it’s held in my hometown; it’s the only one I’ve completed with all three of my siblings, plus my dad and countless other relatives and friends; and it’s the fastest 13.1 I’ve ever run. That was in 2014 when I finally broke the 1:40 mark and hit a PR of 1:38:56. (Maybe I even cried a little at the finish. Maybe…)
This year, I did NOT hit a PR. Not even close. My goal was to break 1:50 and, according to my official chip time, I did not meet that goal.
Do you know what, though? I didn’t cry at the finish. I didn’t even care. Not even a little. Because I didn’t do this race for the time. I did it just to run it and have fun. And I did.
There’s something amazing that takes over when you realize you’ve got nothing to prove to anyone — not even yourself. When you quit obsessing over your hair and makeup before going out in public because honestly, nobody notices. When you stop worrying about what your first- or fifth-grader is going to wear to school, because he/she is going to pretty much look exactly like all the other first- or fifth-graders out there — imperfections, mismatched socks, wrinkled T-shirts and all. I’m not saying I’m giving up and letting myself go; that’s not the point at all. The point is I’ve realized I do not need to impress anybody anymore; probably I never did. I’m OK with just being me, just as I am.
I’m done working out at the gym and obsessing over every bite I put in my mouth to attain (what I thought) was an ideal body image. It’s never. Ever. Going. To. Happen. What I did instead was decide to eat as well as I could and exercise as frequently as I could to make my body healthy and strong. How it looks after that is completely beside the point.
Maybe it’s part of turning 40. Maybe it’s part of (finally?!) growing up. But whatever it is, I love that the pressure’s off. I’ve got plenty of miles to run, and I’ve got plenty of books to write. But seriously, I’ve got nothing else to prove.