Twenty-Two.

It was one of those all-telling scenarios that I don't find terribly common.  I truly do tend to air on the optimistic side, although I have a very cynical and ironic twist to me:  very much like one of those people with two crazy colored streaks of tendrils that frame their face, red and pink.  But those scenarios!  Perhaps you know the type: preclude to the sparse chance they happen, you instinctively just know beyond the point of worry, concern or dread but simply accept upfront, without the fight: you know that it's going to be rough, hard, nasty, tough - you're probably not going to come out on top, but things will most likely be fine, despite the impending setback. 

Those situations are hard.

These are the situations when life comes barreling in with clenched fists, kneading invisible dough in the air, gritting it's teeth and sweating a sweat that smells worse than it looks.  Think about it.  Everyone has one or two of these situations that have occurred sometime.  It is reasonable to KNOW that everyone has one or two of these because these are the situations that remind us, and oftentimes teach or renew us of the understanding that underneath it all, all of the accomplishments, victories, wants, needs, desires, trys, loves, losses, wins, tears, smiles, attempts, hopes...that we are still human, and we are still individually flawed.

...

These races, races, races.  Races.  races.  races.  September 2012 will always sit in my mind.  It is now a new month but I'm looking back at this past month like I'm hungover from the races right now, trying to put the pieces together from last night because I don't remember what the hell I did at the time, but I'm left with bruises and a headache and maybe-some-wincing-memories-ooh-not-good-but-I'm-not-sure? even though it's a new day, a new month. 

In September 2012:

• 3 marathons
• 2 half marathons
• 1 triathlon
• 2 5ks

...on top of regular training miles, swims, bikes, work, work, work, life. 

I've had bigger months, honestly...like last July for example.  However, I didn't realize that I had been utterly binging on races until today, where it's a fresh month.  Despite all of this of which I'm perfectly accepting, I approached twenty-two as one of those situations:  last year when I was on this same course, in this same rain I ran a stellar race coming off of all sorts of races and emotional turmoil, I ran a solid 3:46 marathon.  I knew that there was no way with this recent binge, coming off injury, stress, emotionally floundering again, being lost again that I would not even come close to that time.  It was one of those situations, I knew already in my bones.  I was already disappointed, but I accepted that I wouldn't be disappointed and just ran the race, for whatever it was worth.  It makes me cringe with cliche to write that. 

...

It was misty and I was kicking myself for leaving my hat in the car.  I hate wearing hats while running unless it's raining very hard, but I was still hopeful that the dreary tears would stay away.  Nonetheless, here was marathon number twenty-two.  I still cannot believe I've done this many and it feels so surreal, but the reality was that I was huddled in the mass of the start wave, feeling annoyed and frustrated and a little nervous for the race, listening to the National Anthem and then. That. Goddamn. Black. Eyed. Peas. Song.  thatplaysatthestartofeverygoddamrace.  Grr.

GO

Off we went, twisting and listing around Hampton's beach streets.  In the first mile I spotted a few people I knew and exchanged luck-wishes.  The first two miles were spent just like last year, grumpling to myself about the crowded streets and how I couldn't wait until the Half Marathoners peeled away to give us some breathing room.  I wasn't in a very good mood.  Then I fell into my head, which I used to think was a weird or bad thing, but in my marathons where I've ran well, this is a good thing, and this year especially, it has been a rare thing, so it was welcome.  I briefly thought about what kind of recollection of the course I had last year and I had almost nothing.  It's a trend I've noticed - the faster, the less I remember.  I like that. 

And then it started raining harder.  Mile 6 hit and I was bantering randomly with marathon ghosts as I tend to do, and I ended up having the pleasure of running with a third time marathoner for a bit.   Then as the marathon ghosts tend to do, they ebb and flow and come in and out of our lives and she vanished.  It was pouring out at this point.  Miles 12 through 15 I bantered with another ghost who I will see in two weeks at Hartford.  But, then when I saw the Mile 16 sign, something snapped.  Perhaps it was the heavenly deluge that was making my bare shoulders shiver and my hair hang coldly.  I was getting cold and tired and felt like I wasn't trying like I should be trying and dug in and went for it.  I negative split the race.  I crossed the point of the course where my hamstring blew up last year, but it held, and I held, and I was strong and concentrating andsuddenlywanteditwanteditwantedititititititttttttt...this feeling alone was worth it.  I suddenly wanted it again, which excites me again, fires me up again. Rejuvenation in a time of decay.  This feeling has really escaped me this year and I welcomed it back lovingly. 

All I remember at that point was the final long last three mile stretch where I could *see* the end but was still so far away.  I remember it being a race and a competition of numbers at that point.  Glancing at my watch.  Glancing at the finish.  Digging in.  Glancing at my watch.  Ugh, that finish!  It's still so far away!  Dig in.  Watch.  Finish.  Dig.  Watch.  Finish.  Dig.  Watch.  Dig.  Finish.  Dig.  Dig. Finish.  Dig. Finish.  Finish.  DONE.  I wasn't stellar, I wasn't even great, but I finished in 3:56.  I'll accept it.

I grabbed my medal and water.  I could temporarily feel everything well up in me suddenly - it's like, during these races I push it back and pound it out, and take whatever I'm feeling emotionally and try to convert it into something physical at the time as catharsis, but then when I cross the line the tears always come to fruition and the emotional hangover is astounding.  This race though...it was weird acceptance.  I knew it wasn't going to be great because I'm flawed, I'm human, I've had a not-so-inspiring-year.  It's been a trying year, this year, but I accept it. 

I hate acceptance.

In every other arena of my life that is probably not too apparent in this small space, I don't accept things terribly well as they are.  I hate, Hate, HATE the phrase "It is what it is".  Perhaps it's my own personality flaw in that I expect more out of people and definitely more out of myself, because that is within my control. 

However, for whatever reason, I'm accepting of this race and I think number twenty-two taught me that not every race can be a personal best.  Not every race, but I can and will and should still try, because I love them wholeheartedly.  Number twenty-two also made me realize that we are all individually flawed and misshapen in our own ways.  Sure, we're all unique and interesting, but we're not ethereal for certain and not that special; we are all human.  Number twenty-two reminded me that it's more important how we approach these situations and manage them.  Life can be frustrating for certain, but perhaps some small levels of acceptance are permittable?  I need to think more about this. 

Twenty-three is in two weeks.  I'm hoping for some big realizations and hauntings and smiles then.