The Last Two Miles Are Always the Hardest

 

You had to know that eventually, I'd have to go there... you know, running is a metaphor for life.  Well, lots of things are a metaphor for life, but running and athletics definitely are.

I've always said that the last two miles of any run are the hardest.  It doesn't matter whether I'm running six miles or twenty - six, those last two are killers.  Even running a marathon, when I've put in all the hours and miles of training... I know, in those last two miles, that this is it... it's almost over... the finish line is in sight, and so is the celebratory meal.  When you've put in all the hard work, expended the energy, and survived all the obstacles of training, with twenty minutes, or so, to go, you just can't wait for it all to be finished.  Everything goes back to normal... no more four hour training runs for a while, you just get to be a "normal" runner again - if there is such a thing. 

How about all of this as a metaphor for quarantine life, eh?  Although, to be fair, we didn't get to train, we were released from the starting corral before we even realized we were signed up for the race.  This thing has definitely been a marathon and not a sprint.  We started with some optimism, and a sense of shared hardship. We faced the grueling middle-miles with a will to survive and maybe even the possibility of taking home an award.  But now, we're hitting the wall. 

We are hitting the wall.  We are cracking, and coming apart at the seams. We are struggling... we are beyond stressed, beyond anxious, beyond frustrated.  We've had enough... we are facing unemployment, "virtual learning," financial woes, and we are worried for our loved ones. We miss our old lives. We have come face-to-face with the disease.  We have lost loved ones.  We feel that we just can't do this any longer.  We want to stop and walk.  Or just stop altogether.  

With the vaccine rolling out (slowly, but still rolling out), we think we see a glimpse of the finish line.  At least, we know it's within reach.  But, they're telling us to wait.  They're telling us it may be months until we see some semblance of normalcy.  It's there, it's out ahead of us, it's close enough to see, but too far away to get our hopes up.  It's the last two miles of the run.

As I write this, I find myself doing a ton of self-reflection.  You see, I've been feeling pretty good about my own coping through all of this.  I don't consciously feel overwhelming stress or fear of getting sick.  I've been paying attention to people around me and thinking, "wow, people are really losing their grip, now.  It's that time in the crisis." It's that time in the marathon.  But, as I dig deep, as I analyze my own responses and behaviors, I'm having to admit, rather begrudgingly, that it's me too.  I am with you.  I am hitting the wall.  I'm exhausted, I'm emotional, I have an inclination to socially withdraw, and stay home on my very warm and cozy couch... (it's my 'calm corner.').  More than that, though, as I realized while I was swearing at the dogs while on our walk last evening, it's taking less and less time for me to get seething mad...  This is a person I don't want to be.  It's not going to be fixed externally, my healing is my responsibility. 

So.  I return to the metaphor of the marathon.  What do we see in the last few miles of a distance race?  How do runners who have nothing left in the tank get across the finish line?  I'm reminded of the last mile of a marathon that I ran in 2009.  I was coming in to the last mile, and I had run well, but I was crashing.  Out of nowhere, another runner - a total stranger - came up beside me and said, "come on, let's get there together!" She was a runner in my age category - I was the competition.  Yet, she put her competitiveness aside to help me finish the race with an excellent time.  We see that all the time, as runners:  Competitors throwing it all away to ensure that another runner achieves their goal.  It's pretty amazing, when you think about it, and it happens all the time. Because in the end, runners consider themselves part of a community, or team with a common goal, who stick together and support each other in achieving that goal. 

Folks, this is how we must approach the finish line of this pandemic.  Without reaching out to help and support the people who are struggling to make it, there will be people who do not finish the race - and that is unacceptable.  We need to set aside our selfishness and our pride, and we need to get back to the "we are all in this together" mindset.  Everyone has their own race success story:  don't be afraid to make yourself a part of someone else's.

    Take care of them.  Take care of you. 💖