My grandfather had a debilitating stroke years ago and recently passed away. I sat staring at the postcard, feeling as if this were somehow a sign. “Do this marathon,” he was saying. “Raise money for this cause.” There was also a coupon for Jimboy’s Tacos in my mail. Apparently Grandpa was also saying, “Eat a discounted taco”—a message that seemed more his style.
But still, I could not ignore the sign. When you lose a relative, there’s a feeling of wanting to do something—something huge and profound, something that honors a life that shaped and influenced your own. Though I knew I couldn’t ever do anything big enough to honor his whole life, I figured this was something proactive and challenging and something that would have made my grandfather proud. And moving my lazy ass for twenty-six consecutive miles—that’s pretty profound.
So that was that. I decided to run a marathon, or at least finish one. I would train hard and raise money and do something significant. Yes, that’s what I would do!
When I shared this news with a few friends and family members, their reactions were a mix of hysterical laughter, confusion, and then concern. Usually in that order. “Why would you do that?” “You can’t do that.” “You hate running.” “You still complain about the time I made you walk instead of drive to AMPM to get a Slurpee. And that was a block and a half.” Others simply offered frowns and general perplexed looks.
My favorite reaction came from a woman who has known me for eighteen years. She looked at me and asked if I knew how much time, collectively, she had seen me run in the past eighteen years. “No,” I replied. “About 3.2 seconds,” she said flatly. “Dawn,” she continued, “do you remember when we drove and drove and drove and drove to that restaurant I wanted to show you last month? That was about twenty-six miles.” She looked triumphant. I’ve never really liked that woman, anyway.
Amazingly enough, these reactions made me even more resolute about my decision to train. Why? Because there is only one thing I can definitively say I am more than I am lazy, and that’s stubborn. The best way to get me to do something is to tell me I can’t.
