This morning I ran a 10 km course for the Terry Fox Run to raise funds for cancer. This is the 5th year in a row that I have run this race. I dedicated my run to my mother-in-law and my friend Jill. Both are battling the same form of blood cancer. The dedication wall was filled with handwritten notes: "I am running for..." My gramma. My mom. Aunt Michèle. Papa Jack. My friend Shirley.
Life is so very precious.
The Terry Fox run is a great event for folks of all ages and fitness levels. Families walk the course with kids in strollers, toddlers on trikes and dogs on leashes. Teenagers jog in groups making it more a social event than an athletic trial. Some "keeners" start fast and whiz by you like the wind. A bit later, it is your turn to pass them as they have run out of steam. (I always think of the Aesop's fable, TheTortoise and the Hare, when that happens. Slow and steady wins the race as they say.)
I even saw a man covering the 5km distance on crutches. A friend was keeping pace walking along side him. They were both wearing a T-Shirt that said "We can beat cancer". I couldn't help but wonder what was this man's story. Why was he so determined to participate even when he was injured? Something important was motivating him.
Why push yourself to do something that does not come easily? When I first started running I hated it. Using well-honed guilt tactics to drag myself outside to run. All my aches and pains seemed amplified and time seemed to slow down. I would bargain with myself: "I will run to the next tree and then I will stop and walk for a bit". Pretty soon the next tree turned into the next 5 minutes, and 1 km turned into 5 km. I felt so proud of myself when I reached that goal of 5 km. At the time I thought that for a forty something woman, 5 km was pretty darn good and had no ambition to go any further. (In my opinion, the best part of running is the feeling you get when you're done!)
My sister Lyne, who got me into the sport on a dare, is a natural runner. I cannot even come close to her speed and grace. She runs like a gazelle. Whenever we race toghether, I see Lyne for a split second at the start line and then she's gone, leaving me behind in her dust. She almost always wins a medal and often that medal is for best woman overall. So, I have made my peace, Lyne is not someone I can compete with. The only person I can measure myself against is myself.
If asked I might deny it, but I can be pretty competitive. So after winning a (bronze) medal for my age category in my first ever chip time 5 km race, I started to wonder what my next feat would be.
On a cool September morning in 2004 I registered for the Terry Fox run. The man who was in line ahead of me signed up for the 10 km race. He asked me what distance I was running and I replied meekly that I was running the 5 km. He asked me: "Why not the 10 km? I bet you could do it." Throughout the first leg of the run, I kept hearing his voice in my head taunting me. I started to consider that I might be able to run 6 or 7 km if I really tried. If it was too much I could always walk the rest of the distance.
As I was running the first 5 km, I changed my mind a dozen times fretting that running a longer distance would be just too hard. Then as I approached the 5 km mark and the volunteer indicated the turn off point to the Finish Line something clicked and I announced proudly that I was running the 10 km. The second half of the race was so much easier because my mind got out of the way and I let my body move me forward. I ran the 10 km distance, without prior training, in 53.30 min. A very respectable time if I do say so myself. I realized that day that running long distances was more about will power than physical ability. In a competition, my mind could be my biggest ally or the voice of doom. All I had to do was to become aware of the critical voice in my head and choose to think positive thoughts instead.
In a way, that is what Terry Fox was asking us to do when he set out on his Marathon of Hope 29 years ago.
Terry Fox was born in April 1958 in Manitoba but lived most of his life in British Columbia. Terry was a spirited young man who loved all kinds of sports. In 1977, at the age of 18, he was diagnosed with osteosarcoma, a type of cancer that strikes men more than women, usually around ages ten to twenty-five. Very often this form of cancer starts at the knee, then works its way up into the muscles and tendons. In Terry's case, his right leg was amputated.
Three years after losing his right leg to cancer, Terry Fox launched the Marathon of Hope. His vision was to raise $1 from each Canadian citizen to fund cancer research to find a cure. On April 12, 1980 he started his quest in St-John Newfoundland by dipping his right leg in the Atlantic Ocean with the intention of repeating this symbolic gesture in the Pacific Ocean at the end of his marathon in Victoria (BC). Terry was running an average of 42 km a day. Day after day, in all weather conditions, Terry ran a distance equivalent to a marathon.
He never finished his Marathon of Hope because his cancer came back. He had to give up his dream on September 1, 1980 just north-east of Thunder Bay, Ontario, after 143 days. He had run 5,373 km or 3,339 miles
While outside Ottawa, Ontario about 3,113 km into his Marathon of Hope, Fox said:
"...everybody seems to have given up hope of trying. I haven't. It isn't easy and it isn't supposed to be, but I'm accomplishing something. How many people give up a lot to do something good. I'm sure we would have found a cure for cancer 20 years ago if we had really tried."Terry still believed when other had given up hope.
What is it that you could resolve if you really tried?
What are some limiting beliefs you have about yourself?
For example:
- "I'm too shy, I could never speak in front of a group."
- "I'm not creative."
- "I'm not good at math."
- "I can't dance."
- "I can't hold a note."
- "I don't have the right look."
- "I'm too fat, too short, too clumsy, too old, too young, to... (fill in the blank)
WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO BELIEVE IN AGAIN?
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