If you want to be happy, set a goal that commands your thoughts, liberates your energy and inspires your hopes.
~Andrew Carnegie
I had always avoided risk — that is, until my mid-thirties, when I resolved to get out of my safe, comfortable rut. I vowed that each year on my birthday, I would set a new goal: something that would make me stretch and grow. I made sure to pick something that I thought was hard — beyond my abilities, even — and gave myself a whole year to accomplish it.
One of my early goals was to complete a marathon. I had been that girl who would do anything to get out of gym class, so running the Marine Corps Marathon was the scariest thing I could think of tackling.
I began training a year in advance. First, I bought a book on how to train for a marathon. Then I drew up a schedule and stuck to it religiously. My training started with a short, gentle run every other day. I had to force myself to get out there until running became a habit. Once the simple runs became routine, I incorporated gradual increases in mileage, plus some hills and sprints for strength and stamina. And after outfitting myself with the recommended equipment, I began to feel more like a runner.
I made numerous sacrifices in pursuit of this goal: my long hair and my social life, to name two. As the year wore on, my training became all-consuming. Other interests were put on hold as one entire day each weekend was devoted to a long run. I found I enjoyed its solitude and rhythm. And though the mileage increased each week, I gradually became more comfortable running.
That’s not to say it was easy. On those days when I dreaded going out in the cold or lacked the energy to run, I’d make a deal with myself: If I just got out there at all, I could make it a short workout. And by the time a mile or two had passed, my lethargy had usually passed too, and I’d end up going the whole distance.
Even when I went on my summer vacation, I allowed myself no vacation from training — not even when the temperature reached 110 degrees on the day I was due for a 20-mile run. I questioned the wisdom of running in that heat, but stuck to the program. Completely wiped out after that brutal run, I barely made it back to where I was staying. I had to lie on the bathroom floor for 20 minutes to cool down before I felt strong enough to walk shakily to the beach and jump in the ocean, where I stayed submerged until my core temperature returned to normal.
The day of the race, in late October, was cold and rainy in Washington, D.C. They lined us up by average speed, with the fastest runners in the front of the pack to avoid a bottleneck. That meant I was way at the back. In fact, once the gun went off, it took me several minutes to even inch my way to the starting line!
In addition to the threat of hypothermia, the gray, drizzly weather was demoralizing. I don’t know which was harder to bear — the mental torture of completing a five-hour footrace under those conditions, or the physical pain. Of the 18,000 who registered for the race that year, 4,000 didn’t finish.
The chill and fatigue got to me around mile 16. I felt weak, my energy reserves were depleted, and I gulped the sports drinks that were offered along the way. As the miles wore on, my body felt like its structure was crumbling, and there was nothing holding me upright. Every footfall rattled my bones as my shoes pounded the streets of Georgetown. Even worse was the lonely stretch of the course past the Kennedy Center on an isolated peninsula with wind whipping off the water and no spectators to cheer on the runners. But quitting was not an option.
Incredible as it would have seemed a year prior, I made it the full 26.2 miles… the last yards of which were uphill! Trudging up that hill, I felt like I’d never make it. But I just kept putting one foot in front of the other and reminding myself that’s how I got to this point — by focusing on the next step, not on the top of the hill.
Of all my “birthday goals” over the years, that one probably had the most impact on me. It’s not because I became a runner. I don’t do marathons anymore; I don’t need to because now I know that I can.
What mattered was the side effect. The confidence I gained by setting a nearly impossible goal and then achieving it propelled me to be fearless in other areas of my life. I applied and was selected for a job I wouldn’t have dared pursue before. I became braver in my personal relationships. I felt there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do if I put my mind to it. Thanks to my marathon training, the formula for success was there: break the task into manageable pieces and make incremental progress — a series of minor goals leading up to the major one. Each year, and with each new goal, I continue to reinforce this.
I don’t have to run a marathon again, but I plan to find other “marathons” to complete — more impossible goals — ones that have nothing to do with running. I’ll just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Because now I know that I can.
— Susan Yanguas —