This Is My Marathon

This post was originally written December 10th, 2019

After a day spent resting, I managed to drag my weary carcass out of bed to make some dinner and watch a little TV Monday night. Flipping through the offerings on Amazon, I am tempted to numb on the usual sappy Christmas movie in which the story line is always the same; Some single workaholic woman comes to a small town to dispense with inherited property, some hunky townie rescues her from an ensuing snowstorm, sparks begin to fly between them, until her boyfriend, the big city developer who is working out a secret deal to turn her hotel into a parking lot, or a coal mine, or a high rise condominium to house misplaced seniors in order to steal all their cash, shows up. After a wood chopping contest in which her city man loses shamefully, she realizes hunky small-town guy is way hotter, if not a wee bit less ambitious, and they fall in love after sparring for most of the show over her decision to sell off the most loved residence in town, or her inability to bake cookies without getting flour all over her nose, or her lack of sensible footwear. Also, she realizes she is too independent and no nice guy would ever want to marry her, so what a blessing to have been rescued by hunky guy before it was too late. But still, there is something comforting in the familiar. Nice Christmas music, nice snowy mountaintop inn, nice warmhearted good feels, just a background movie to keep me company while I set up the very (very!) skinny Christmas tree I ordered from Target.

But scrolling through all those holiday listings with my cynical thoughts about the message that being ambitious is not a desirable trait for a woman, and that helplessness in fact is the most adorable attribute we can aspire to, and that happily giving up everything we’ve worked so hard to achieve in order to absorb ourselves into the life of a man who obviously knows what is best for us -- don’t even get me started on my even more cynical thoughts about the lack of diversity in these movies- it hit me that maybe I’ve moved on from this stage in my life. I wasn’t choosing out of the warm fuzzy places of previous years, longing for a storybook ending of my own. I was acting out of habit, reaching for something familiar, no matter how empty or dissatisfied I knew it would leave me. Somehow these holiday movies have become the hidden package of Oreo’s snarfed down at 3am. Empty calories that leave me with a desperate sense of self loathing after a binge.

Instead of giving in to the impulse to numb myself in the seasonal comfort zone, I picked Brittany Runs a Marathon, based on a true story about an overweight woman determined to pull herself out of a self destructive rut by running in the New York City Marathon. Throughout the course of the movie, she encounters obstacles to her goals that tempt her to return to her old ways and admit what a loser she is. She has to ditch toxic relationships, leaving her vulnerable to the feeling of being utterly alone. A new circle of friends step in at the critical moment, but Brittany refuses their aid, believing somehow that their gesture is out of pity, which reinforces the message that she hasn’t changed one bit, and ultimately costing an entire years delay in achieving her goals. 

In the end, every single one of her new friends show up to cheer her on when she’s just about to quit. Because they were there for her at the most crucial point, she is able to literally pull herself up and rally to complete the race. She makes it over the finish line, triumphantly changed by the kind of strength that is soul deep. Called out by the encouragement of others who saw her worth before she is fully capable of understanding how she has diminished it. She finally understands how worthy she is to receive friendship and love. How very much she has to offer in return, as a peer, as an equal, without shame for her body, or herself as a person. Those final minutes of the movie found me weeping like a danged fool. Hefty sobs welled up demanding my attention.

Last year, for the first time in my life, there was no tree to decorate the living room. No planning the family gathering on Christmas Eve day. No decorations or stockings hanging in anticipation. Only boxes, and bubble wrap, and yards and yards of tape. I was sick, broke, scared, and leaving my toxic marriage for what I knew was the last and final time. Letting go of nearly 20 years of broken dreams and broken promises, wrapped in a blanket of shame, and regret, and the dawning awakening to my misplaced guilt for the failure of it all. 

I faced down obstacles with an ever present inner taunting of the old belief system to throw in the towel, just admit what a loser I am! At my worst moments, I nearly did give up. Maybe changing my life was not in the cards for me anymore, maybe the victory stories of others were simply hallmark movies meant to distract me from the truth, or maybe it was only possible for other people to overcome, that somehow I really was too flawed for redemption. 

Come back! Those voices taunted me. You can wrap yourself in that old sweater you love so much! The comfortable one that helps you forget your lofty fanciful dreams. Never mind the holes and worn tattered fabric. Never mind that it is no longer a good fit, or that it smells of mothballs and old lies! Hunker yourself down right there and let what's familiar lull you back to sleep. Stay! Sleep! Get lost in the headiness of those dreams! It is safer here!

Flat on my face on the proverbial pavement of life, the evidence of circumstance convincing me no progress within had been made, a friend would step in and gently pull me back to my feet. Offering me a place to stay, a car to drive, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, the financial support to get to a healthier place. And most importantly, a new message to replace that worn out track from the past. 

As I stood there unfolding the tinsel branches, watching Brittany cross the finish line with her friends cheering her on, I scanned the living room and home around me. I know I wouldn't be here without all of you. It is a place of restoration for me. I’ve been slowly decorating it in a way that feeds my own soul, in colors that calm and soothe, and truly reflect me. It represents a new way of thinking of myself - a human who deserves to be loved. Tears and sobs escaped in great bursts, not in sadness, but something akin to a feeling of joy, mixed with laughter. I knew in that moment I had crossed an important finish line, and audible words came tumbling out – This is my marathon! 

No longer do I believe that I’m too flawed to be deserving of a healthy relationship, that I have to accept scraps from someone too stingy or broken to give me an equal portion. No longer do I have to endure the emotional battering of projected pain, or the weight of another’s shame. No longer do I have to cover over the secrets of an abuser, or risk being expelled from The Family, rejected by generations of mothers grounded in their own conditioning and fear. No longer will I ascribe to a system that teaches life doesn’t start until I’ve achieved perfect coupledom, proving my worthiness to receive love through sacrificing of my own precious self. 

In that moment there was a deep knowing that I’m going to make it. My legs are no longer cramping in protest of the run. I’m no longer under the fog of believing it doesn’t count if I need a hand up. Being alone isn’t lonely, and it isn’t merely a consolation prize to all that I missed out of in life. I am hitting my stride. Growing stronger, more determined, confident in this place. I am eagerly anticipating what is to come. Yes - 

This is my marathon!