Things I Can't Do

My current list: Nothing. I learned this for absolute certain when I crossed the finish line at my half marathon last August. I had officially lost 130 pounds. I had quit smoking and, as of that very day, joined the ranks of the 8% who make it past 6 months quit and subsequently go on to successfully kick the habit in numbers of about 92%. I had learned, however inexpertly, the complicated art of Latin Dance. I had gotten up before 7 every day since I'd quit smoking.
And now I had run half a marathon. In under two hours. I looked back over the finish line and I saw all those people crossing the line whom I had passed just a few minutes before. The first time I'd seen them I was at the start line in my $19.99 Walmart shoes and my lucky favorite purple shirt that only chafed a little. They were chatting, stretching, standing around looking runnerly in their shoes that did something magical to something called a gait, and their shirts they'd bought at a store that didn't sell cosmetics or dog food or frozen pizza. They looked like they knew what they were doing. They looked like athletes.
As I had run I would find myself pulling in front of one of these titans of athletic prowess, and hold back. No, I would say to myself, I don't want to overdo it. She's clearly a better runner than me, no way I could finish ahead of her.
Then something happened. To my left the mile marker caught my eye: 10 miles. 3 miles to go. I feel pretty good. No really. I could have sworn it was more like mile 6. And then it dawned on me.
I live in Timbucktoo. At least if Timbucktoo were a tiny, remote village in the northern California foothills. I run in places which have names (that I have of course given them) like "Old Bastard Hill" and "Not Enough Expletives Rise." On my runs at home the last 3 miles include "The Wicked Witch," (it's technically Pine Gulch - as in Mrs. Gulch, at a 6-8% grade and goes on for 0.9 miles), "Snake Bite Hill" (so named because the first time I ever ran it I had to check to make sure a snake hadn't bitten me in the butt) and "The Corkscrew" (it was too steep to build the road straight up so they wound it around the hill like a corkscrew).
There is in fact no full mile on the run that doesn't have at least one hill that, if you thought about it too long wouldn't make you wish you lived in Kansas.
"3 miles." I said to myself. "And none of them is uphill." Suddenly my feet told my brain they'd take it from here. I waved as I passed the lady with the tatoo on her left hip that said "26.2" and I started to smile as I passed the guy who had passed me at mile 1. One by one the fancy gait correcting no-produce-department equipment people fell behind.
My final time was 1 hour 51 minutes. Above average even for all those non-Walmart athletic people. Me and WTF Ridge had made me faster than all the fancy shoes a girl could wish for.
As I crossed the finish line I knew, I knew I could do anything. Ever since then I've caught my self saying, "I can't..." And "I'll never..." And I laugh. I correct myself. "I can. All I have to do is learn, and in time I will." I tell myself that all the time, and the image of the red painted grass finish line under my Walmart shoes passes through my mind every time.

So if you're facing your impossible lose weight New Year's Resolution, thinking you can't, or you'll never, think of me. And tell yourself "I can. All I have to do is learn, and in time I will."

Addendum: Two days ago I crested "Holy Crap Summit," and turned onto "The Corkscrew." It was the last mile of my last 24 mile training run. Two weeks from today is my 36th birthday. I am running my first marathon 2 days before that.
Whole Health Renovation Specialist
209-740-7898
I can do anything and I intend to take as many people with me as I can