Running 20.5 miles straight seemed easy in theory. As someone who works out twice a day, my biggest fear was that 20-miles would be too easy. Time to put my body to the test and discover my potential, so I breathed in the cold dry air, turned on The Weeknd’s new album, and proceeded to run the sleepy 6 a.m. streets of North Jersey.
It was fun. I waved to the power walkers, said “good morning” with a Cheshire cat grin, and did an air drum solo to one of the songs in my head. I’d planned to take a trip down memory lane and run straight to my alma mater.
“Maybe I’d run a couple of miles around the track when I got there,” I thought. “Oh, I wonder where I can get the best pose for a selfie to send to my ‘lazy’ friends later.” Ten miles in and I thought this was going to be too easy, then, miles 15 through 20 happened.
The Only Miles that Mattered (15–20)
At this point, I still had plenty of energy, but I was beginning to lose feeling in my legs. My ankle started acting up a few miles back, but now every step I took felt like a nail being hammered into the joint. I’d been jogging for two hours, yet it began to feel like I forgot how to run.
My legs were just acting on their own accord, one step after another, after another, while my brain begged them to stop. As I approached the last four-miles, I remembered something sinister.
This last portion was a 10-hill stretch, little-to-no breaks, and no sidewalks to avoid reckless morning drivers. These last few miles were unexplored territory, and I was about to see how deep into the chaos I could go.
The first few hills I told myself, “this is it, last one, and then you’re walking the rest,” but I just kept going. Then the next few came, “Why am I even doing this? You’re going to get hurt, even Forrest Gump walked eventually,” but I just kept going.
Feeling no boosts in confidence from conquering the last few, I saw something — something bad — it was hell itself. A long winding hill that veered off before I could tell how brutal it was going to be. This had to be it, 19-miles into my journey, and now it was going to come to an end.
I don’t know how, or even why, but I kept going. I kept going and going until I made it to my school that day. There was no selfie and no extra miles ran on the track. I gave everything to that run, which was later confirmed when I almost passed out on the car ride back and was forced to hobble up the stairs like a 90-year-old man.
I Don’t Know My Potential, Do You?
Some of my friends congratulated me, others said I was crazy (can’t blame them), but the most common question I got — especially in anticipation of that run was: why? Why do that to yourself? Why experience all that pain? Why wouldn’t you stop, why, why, why, why?
Thankfully there’s one answer to all those questions: for those last five miles.
Those moments where I was telling myself to stop but kept going. The times the fight got the hardest but didn’t stop. It even inspired me to ask some questions to myself:
- What if I did stop? Would I’ve ever known that I was capable of going on?
- Who would I be if I stopped on mile 19? (Maybe the same, but it made me feel uneasy nonetheless)
These thoughts frightened the hell out of me and made me realize many of us are leaving gas in the tank, gains on the table, and maybe might never see our real potential come to fruition.
We talk a lot about potential in this day in age — your anal-retentive boss might not think you’re living up to yours — but it’s not like potential is a real tangible thing. Though we know this is not to be true, potential is as real as the words you’re reading or the desk you like to work on. Maybe it’s even more real than those things (but I’ll save the philosophy spiel for another day).
If you’re tired of waiting, get off your ass and start seeking adversity. Face your fears, do things that no one else is doing, challenge yourself. It doesn’t have to be exercise: Get up five minutes earlier, cut back on eating one more Oreo, stay at work for 15 minutes more — and if you do enjoy exercise — put in one more rep.
Navy Seal David Goggins put it best:
“It’s easier to accept the fact that you’re just not good enough. We all have a lot more than we think we have.” David Goggins