The 800m race… I hated it with all my heart as a child when I was an athlete. I was so good at the sprint and long jump events, but before I could go to the junior category and choose my events, in the “children” category, the regulations forced me to run the 800m race as well – endurance all the way.
Now it seems a little, but for a 9-10-year-old child, blown by the wind, that race seemed to last an eternity, it was horrible, and it seemed like I wasn’t going to make it out alive, and my heart was going to explode.
Pretty much the same feeling tries me from time to time when I have to run a longer race through life. There are times like this when I’m convinced my heart won’t hold this time, that I’m going to short-circuit my brain, and I’m going to crack before I get to see that finish line.
Lately, I’ve been flirting intensely with the thought that I’ve moved on from the “kids” category and that no one forces me to sign up for these long races anymore… only that life itself is a long race, and there are about two options: give up or stand up. Stand up, I’d choose… But where’s the power?
And so I remembered the 800m race from the year of grace… I don’t know anymore…somewhere in the ’90s. I was the youngest in my class and all the competitions. Small, skinny, and shy. But when I was running, somehow the bitch came out of me, and my heels sizzled, leaving everyone behind.
Except during the 800m. During the 800m, the bitch came out, but she barely crawled after the first lap of 400m. And as I gradually fainted and saw the tails of the chicks in front of me move away with no chance of reaching them, at one point, among the heartbeats that broke my eardrums, I hear the gallery chanting the name of the girl from the city we were in… she was the first in line. So what do you think? They had no idea that my middle name was the same as her first name. I remember exactly that I found it amusing, and it was enough for me to giggle somewhere inside and imagine they support me with their cheers.
And somehow, because I had found the fun in the whole story, I used it, and my legs started running again on their own until they outran all those in front of me. I still didn’t like the 800m races, but this memory stuck with me, and I didn’t know why until recently when I felt again that I was “dying on my feet.” Just like then, only different.
I wanted to share it with you because… when you feel like you’re dying, when you feel like you’re alone in the world or that you’re the only one who feels that way in this race called life, I want to tell you that it’s not so, that I felt the same way and not just once.
When you feel that you are at the end of your powers, that everything is going beyond your strength, that you are running or crawling in a race in which you did not necessarily want to sign up, that you are starting to get dizzy and lose your breath or your sense of reason, you must you know from me that you have resources in you that you have no idea you have… so don’t give up!
That we all finish this race, one way or the other, and that you choose how to run it and how to finish it. That you can still find that thing that makes you giggle inside and trust that your legs will carry on even when your brain tells you they won’t. And it’s not important to finish first, but it’s preferable to make it fun.
But it’s just as important to know that no one else will come running in your place… all others can do, if you’re lucky, is encourage you from the sidelines. So, stand up!
