I really don’t know how to start this post. I wasn’t supposed to be writing about this in THIS way. I was all set to write a post about having an amazing week in training, logging the most miles I’ve run in a single month, culminated by a back-to-back 20 mile run Saturday and Sunday. It was supposed to be about how I felt stronger than I have in a really long time, to be more accurate: ever.
Last month, I applied to be a 2013 San Francisco Marathon Ambassador. I don’t really even know where to go from here. What do I write next? That I’m devastated I wasn’t accepted? That I feel sick to my stomach? That my confidence as a blogger and runner just took a major hit? That 40 people were selected and I wasn’t chosen?
I’m a thousand times happy and excited for those that were accepted. They are all talented and well deserved of the recognition. I know many of them. Is that what makes this so hard?
What hurts is that I felt like I was “worthy” of being included. That I have spent the last five years training and learning how to be a better runner. Feeling like I was meant for something, needing some reassurance that what I am doing on this blog “means something.” For those of you that read the blog regularly or follow me on social media, you know that I love the city. I run all over it. I am a part of San Francisco. If I asked you to define me in a few words, I’d be willing to bet that ‘San Francisco’ would be one of the descriptions right next to ‘runner.’ I commute into the city five-days a week for work… at the city’s nationally recognized paper. LOL. I even wake up at 4 a.m. to drive into the city on Saturdays to train here. My posts and updates scream love for the city.
realize I’ll be okay
close myself off
come back stronger
resister for the race
not register for the race
delete all my social media
I don’t know how to explain how I feel. I’m rambling. This blog is usually lively and full of humor. Now it has become (for a single post) a place for me to share my random thoughts about something that may have meant too much to me.
Imagine back when you were in elementary school, or even high school. There was a girl/boy you thought was the world. They were the sun, the moon and the stars. You were friends, but just that… although you wanted to make a change. For months (if not years) you put forth your best effort to garner their attention, their affection. You worked out and dedicated yourself, put on your best outfit, made sure everything was in its proper place for when you went to ask them to the dance. Your entire
running career social life led to THIS point. You put yourself out there and felt like it was received well. You were friends. You laughed. You smiled, You talked and joked, of course they would enjoy spending time with you. You anxiously awaited their reply. You kept checking your phone on the day you would receive the answer and every time it buzzed got a little excited. Then it happened. They decided to go to the dance with someone else. Actually, they were going to the dance with an extremely large group, but sadly you were not included. They liked you and wanted to hang with you, just not in that way.
I sat there and stared at my phone. Looking at this email that just sat there. I read it several times, maybe my name wasn’t listed alphabetically. Is it at the bottom? If I read it again, will it be different? Maybe it’s my phone. I’ll check the computer. No. Sat there. Just staring at it like someone had knocked over my ice cream cone. Like someone looked into my identity and said “San Francisco, motivation, and running” don’t belong. You ARE not good enough.
I don’t really know what to think. The email came at the end of the work day and when I left not 20 minutes after, I tried to enter public transit using my work badge. The first time I’ve done that in 5 years. Something I’ve boarded twice a day for 5 years and I forget how to enter the gate.
I’m not conceited enough to think I SHOULD have been included. If you’ve read my blog, you know that’s actually the opposite of who I am. I’m the nice guy who does this for fun. I’m the runner that cheers on every single person, fast, slow, walker, runner, sprinter, cart-wheeler. I’m the guy that thanks the volunteers at every water stop and the police for monitoring traffic on race day. I’m the guy that trains for months to shave off 5-minutes on his PR and knows the triumphs and short-comings on race day.
When I came home my daughter had a huge smile on her face as she sees me walk through the door. I swoop her up in my arms. Wifey hugs me and hands me a box. We celebrated our anniversary last week and her present to me was stuck in transit. I open it. With my daughter in my arms (as she helps me pull the string) and wifey next to me… inside I see this. I can’t help but hold the two ladies in my life and cry.