Finishing What You Started

(originally published January 1, 2015. My original blog, on Wordpress, was hacked in early 2016. All of the original posts, through January 2016, have been re-posted here on Blogger.)

Invariably, when people learn that my wife and I are running marathons, they ask, "What's your goal?" – as in: Within what time frame do you hope to complete the marathon? They are trying to gauge what kind of runners we are. The top Kenyan runners complete marathons in a bit over two hours.  Very serious runners do it in less than three. Under four is respectable. Over four is still good, but no one will mistake you for an elite runner

When asked about my "goal," my answer is always the same:

"My goal is to finish."

I'm not trying to be flippant. "My goal is to finish" is the most sincere answer I can offer. While I have a sense of how long it takes me to complete a marathon (hint: the Kenyans do not tremble in fear upon my entering the race), crossing that finish line – in whatever time it takes – is what matters most to me.

A marathon – 42.2 kilometers/26.2 miles – is a long haul. Five in one year (but who's counting) is even longer. It's not that speed doesn't matter – I've managed to get a bit faster and each marathon represents a new opportunity to set a PR (that's "personal record" for the uninitiated). Rather, I'm happy that I've managed to acquire the ability to cover this distance at all.

I ran my fourth marathon of five in San Antonio a few weeks ago. I did what I set out to do – I finished. In truth, not much more than that. I didn't set a PR, not even close. I was grateful just to get over the finish line.

Around mile 22, I hit what is known in marathon circles as "the wall." Often, a runner encounters "the wall" without much advance warning – everything is going fine, and then all of sudden, moving those legs becomes awful challenging. 

I have no idea why it happened. San Antonio was hardly the toughest marathon I've run.  It didn't have the non-stop hills of Jerusalem. Nor the mud-filled cow paths of Geneva. Nor the seven-mile ascent of Athens. In theory, San Antonio should have been my fastest marathon. Only it wasn't.

So what did I do? I tried to tough it out, moving each foot one labored step at a time. I tried to talk myself through it, reminding myself that I had run harder marathons. I consumed another energy gel. I poured cold water over myself to blot out the effects of the tough Texas sun.

Nothing worked. I was barely running. Each step became slower, more painful. And then – my feet just stopped.

Only four miles to go, I told myself. But at that moment, four miles may as well have been forty.

I determined I would cross the finish line, no matter what. I would keep moving forward, even if it meant walking. And I would try to run whatever portion of the remaining distance I could.

The next four miles were a combination of running and walking – although by that point, a casual observer might have been challenged to discern much difference between the two.

This walk/run shuffle wasn't my ideal way of finishing the marathon. It certainly wasn't my idea of a good time. But it did get me – eventually – to the finish line.

As with other marathons, on the other side of the finish line, I was given a marathon medal and a bottle of water. A little beyond the finish line, they were handing out cans of Michelob Ultra (I haven't had mass-produced American beer in years – and I must say that calling it "beer" is a stretch – beer-flavored water would be more accurate – but I digress).

And then, I was given something else that is not usually part of the marathon package, but that seemed appropriate for what I had just done – a marathon Finisher's jacket.

I finished. Perhaps not a great finish. But a finish, all the same.

As in running, so in life. Much is made of the importance of starting. How we start our day sets the tone for its remainder. To beat procrastination, we must get in the habit of starting. The first few minutes of an interview (or less) often determine how the person across the table views us. And so on.

But as important as it may be to start and to start well, finishing is at least as important. All of us can name a multitude of projects that we started yet never finished. The follow-through is one of the most important components of a good golf swing, as it is in baseball and tennis. When we extol someone's ability to "get the job done," we are praising their ability to finish.

"Hitting the wall" is not unique to marathon running. Not infrequently, when we attempt a worthwhile project, we start off well and then build momentum. Everything is humming along. And then, just as we are nearing completion but are not quite in sight of the finish, things start to go wrong. We uncover hidden obstacles or lose enthusiasm.

It is at that moment that we must dig deep and find a way to press ahead. We may not finish as quickly or as well as we had hoped. But – wall or no wall – success in life belongs to the finishers. 

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I am running these five marathons for the amazing children and adults at the Israel Sport Center for the Disabled. We have set a goal of $5,000. Every donation of any amount makes a difference. Click here if you want to help us get to the finish line!