This has been one of the hardest years of my life. Between my dad‘s passing and most recently my son getting kicked out of kindergarten, I felt myself spinning down and down an emotional whirlpool like the last remaining water as the tub empties. Wondering if I will drown. Wondering if I care if I will drown.
I’ve had a marathon lined up for many months now. I’ve been training hard but honestly? My heart’s not been in it. Secretly I gave myself permission to say screw it at the last minute. And I thought about doing just that… So many times I thought about it. Wednesday when we found out my five year old son would need to find a new school and fast, I thought to myself this might just be the straw that broke this mama’s back. Because why even try at this point, right?
No one would blame me if I quit.
No one say anything if I bowed out.
But I didn’t give up. I went through the motions and got myself on the plane and even woke up at the crack of dawn to get to the starting line. Because the truth is? We can do hard things. Our bodies are capable of doing hard things.
During the most trying times, when our heart hurts and there’s no energy to be found and even when we question our purpose, our circumstances or our own bodies and minds. The unbearable times that might just do us in… we get through them. One step at a time. One breath at a time. One day at a time.
We can do hard things. Even the things we don’t think we can do. Even the days we’re not sure we want to get up and go on.
Our bodies were built for hard things. Our bodies are fighters.
Do you know what the hardest part of this marathon was? It was the last .2. I could see the finish line. I was so damn close. But all I could think was I’m going to fall. I’m not gonna make it. I started to feel dizzy and couldn’t even remember which way was up. I pictured myself falling right there, 50 yards from the finish. Picked up and carried off in a gurney. Because my body just could not do anymore. Not one more step.
I had come so far. Nobody would blame me for quitting now. People would understand if I gave up.
“You can do hard things,” I whispered to myself over and over and over as the crowd around me cheered and celebrated as if I had already crossed the finish line. They didn’t know how much I was struggling. They didn’t know I was on the cusp of falling.
And then, what felt like 1 million years later, I cross the finish line. I crossed the finish line and I started bawling. I cried for my dad, I cried for my son who’s had to start over at his fourth school now. And I cried because even though I didn’t think my body could physically make it, it got me through to the very end.
We can do hard things. It will hurt, it will suck, and it will test us to our very limits. But we are fighters. If we trust our body, it will carry us through to the finish line.
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