Last week we reflected on pigs, this week on wolves.  Sounds like a fable in the making, and maybe it is.  Last week, I wrote about the unexpected path that led from a sedentary life in high school to returning 50 years later for a half marathon in my hometown.  The Flying Pig marathon is named, in part, for those who line up the first Sunday in May to do something they never imagined possible. They have overcome odds which, for them, compared with the chances of seeing a pig fly.

When we lined up last Sunday, I gave myself less than even odds of finishing. Over the prior month, I had been entertaining the rebellion of weak links in both body and spirit.  My lower back and left leg alternated between functioning one day and collapsing the next.  Sharp knee pain appeared a week before the run, and it hurt even when I walked.  To round things out, I harbored a late-breaking infection and was feeling the effects of antibiotics.  I felt pretty darned sorry for myself, and leaned heavily on the option of bailing at Mile 3 instead of adding 10 more.

It felt like a miracle when I crossed the finish line that day.  Though I recorded the slowest time in my personal history, the experience as a whole was a personal best:  running strong in gorgeous spring weather, celebrating with the friend with whom I have planned this day for nearly four years, giving thanks for the cautious training and good fortune that converged for successful effort.

This was not the first time I had started a race wondering whether I was up to the challenge.  Other years and other injuries have threatened before.  I have written about those experiences here in the forum of Reflections, and am beginning to feel like the boy who cried wolf. Really?  Give me a break!  You've said this before and everything worked out fine.  Why should we believe you now? 

I admire those whose stoicism carries them through such questioning in silence, allowing them to test themselves and pass or fail in the privacy of their own hearts.  I guess that's not my style.  I drag you along for the ride.  I take heart from knowing I am not alone and hope that you do too.

What next?  I still have running goals on my bucket list.  I still have a body that ebbs and flows and will no doubt decline with age in its willingness to cover the distances I ask.  I have lessons to learn as I navigate the two and their interaction with one another.  I want to embrace the challenge with confidence that I will learn those lessons, whatever they are, when things turn out as I intend and when they do not.  I would also like to learn not to cry wolf.  I would like to carry my fears in a more private place, test them against reality, and accept the outcome with quiet gratitude, rather than engaging anyone who is willing to listen to my most recent drama.