My Wings

Hi New World. Remember me? My name is Sciato and I'm probs on the list of World's Worst Bloggers. Gotta get back on track. But you'll be really proud to note that I've been thinking and stewing over this particular post for about 2 months. So gear up for a long post. I sum up. Too much for sum up. Gear up for a long post. :)

Do the math. In the past 2 months, I have:

-Finished my EIGHTH year of teaching (WTH father time, why am I old?!)

-Received 4 hours of graduate credit

-Babysat two amazing kiddos that I'm completely in love with

-Seen just about everyone in my family- and snuggled all of my nephews and niece!

-Proudly watched my amazing husband GRADUATE with his MBA! Yahoo for Heffe!

-Thrown Heffe a surprise 30th birthday party!
-Supported 12 Girls on the Run!!!!!! Star Power, baby!!!!

-Been to Cincinnati, Cleveland, DISNEY, Sarasota, New Orleans, and lived to tell the tales!

...There's way more, obvi, but this last one brings me to the jumping point of this post...

-Ran with Heffe in this little thing called The Flying Pig Marathon.

That's right New World. Rewind to October 2013 when I promised you that I'd run this race. I did. :) 

In typical Sciato fashion, I freaking NAILED every training run. Heffe and I had a billion other things going on (um, he was taking classes three nights a week and STILL managed to KILL IT), so training was always first in our minds, but in reality, last on our plate. We made sure to at least run 3 times a week, and if we made it to 4 times, it was great, but we knew we were pushing ourselves to the limit, and not necessarily in a good way. Nevertheless, we checked off each of our long runs of the 18 week training, with very few bumps in the road.

With that being said, my actual race day did not go as planned. By the time Heffe and I reached race weekend, we were physically prepared, but our nerves were at an all time high. We were at the point where it was something to cross off, and while we were so excited, it was just a huge point of anxiety for both of us.

We started off pretty strong, and were actually pushing a comfortable pace. Hell, my buddy Marisa and I were even SINGING to each other around mile 4 (probably to everyone else's dismay, but who cares, it's a marathon, you do what ya gotta do!!). About mile 7, we started hitting the serious hills. Lucky for us, I had run the half before, and Marisa had given us a play-by-play of the course layout. We were ready, and had done some pretty significant hill training. The hills were my goal. 

When I say "the hills were my goal" I mean that to the utmost extent. It had become such a mental game at that point that I wasn't even thinking about the END of the marathon. I was thinking about the hills. My hills. My Everest. I needed to conquer them. It was personal. 

I was feeling great before I started the initial ascent and also saw my family- Michael, Chris, baby Lucy, and Amanda!!! And a blink of an eye and a KILLER view of the city later, mile 9 came and went, and I had killed the hills! I DID IT. It was hard, and I for sure wanted to stop, but with a ton of tenacity and support from Heffe, I killed the hills. Since this was my goal, I pretty much shut down mentally after this. 

I couldn't find a rhythm, started cramping, got side stitches, and walked a LOT after this. When we saw my parents at mile 12, I put on a brave face for them, and when we hit the insane incline hills at mile 15 (on Watterson Street, ugh!), I ran up it. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be that difficult. I mean, I had ROCKED every training run- including BOTH 20 milers! And this was MY RACE. I had talked way too big of a game to fail. But, I didn't fail- I achieved my goal and ran up the hills! And if anything, this proves that running is a complete mental game. And my mindset was that I had conquered the hills... I am done.

I think this is a great segue for My Ode To Heffe and Marisa- my running gods. I cannot put into words the motivation you gave me, give me, and continue to give me. You literally saw me at my worst, and still supported me. I don't know how you did it, but you were, ARE, my shining lights, and I will be forever grateful for your support. <3

Needless to say, I did not make my secret time goal, but remember, New World? That wasn't even my "real" goal. I freaking rocked those hills. And if you think I'm exaggerating about the intensity of these hills, ask any runner or google "Cincinnati Flying Pig Marathon" and it will be categorized as one of the toughest races in the country. That being said, don't let me scare you- you should TOTALLY DO IT. I have wanted to do this race for 5 years and I accomplished it. Yes, it's tough, but oh my gosh, oh so memorable. I cannot say enough good things about the course, stops, logistics and overall environment. A perfect final marathon to my Ohio I-71 Trifecta of Cleveland, Columbus, Cincinnati. If you run it, I promise I will come support you with cowbells and signs and screams of joy. :) 

Completing the Flying Pig gives me such pride and joy that it makes me actually tear up thinking of it. This race was such a long time coming. I put in 5 years of mental dedication, overcame injuries, altered my entire life style, moved a couple times, traveled, ran hundreds of miles, abused 10+ pair of running shoes, and talked (probs overshared) to everyone I possibly could about running. And guess what, New World? I. Freaking. Did. It. 

I've said it once, and I'll say it a million times. Marathon training is a mental game. Anyone can do the physical training; tough as it is, that is the easy part. It is freaking HARD to get to that mental place where you are willingly giving up countless hours of your life DAILY in order to cheat death for ONE DAY. In my case, THREE days. In Heffe's case, FIVE days. 

Again, perfect segue to explain to you how much of a  machine my husband is. FIVE MARATHONS, people. Supported me through 2 of them!!! Do you know how difficult it is to simply RUN a marathon, let alone emotionally carry another person as you RUN a MARATHON??? We know plenty of couples that run "together", but it is always such a Booyah Moment when I tell people that we really truly do run TOGETHER. :) Love you, Heffe. :)

The Flying Pig was the final piece of my Ohio Trifecta. The Flying Pig was also the final piece of my marathon days, at least for the foreseeable future. I am forever grateful to have those 5 years, and I will never ever forget the lows and highs of training and race days. I have those memories forever, but I am ready and happy to hang up my long distance running shoes for awhile.

Heffe and I have had many a conversation about this, and many a time it ends with, "So should we sign up for a race?", to which we giggle and raise our glasses and toast ourselves for being masters of the universe. These had been pretty private conversations, until last week, when I actually told someone I had "hung up my running shoes." 

Seeing the expression on their face when I verbalized this sentiment was what I feared. Running has become part of  my personality, and it was like that part of me had died. And I read it on their face. 

A little dramatic, yes, but nevertheless, I realized at that very moment that it would be the sickest joke in the world if I killed that part of me and "hung up my running shoes" for good. I am only kidding myself, really. I have kept a log of miles since the Flying Pig (as does Heffe) and we each have weekly mileage goals. I have run through yet another pair of shoes, and have tentatively planned for when I will need to buy a new pair (and a new pair of compression pants and a new jacket for fall runs...etc...). I finally understand: Just because I'm not officially signed up for any races doesn't mean I'm not a runner anymore.  I am, and as long as I physically can, will always be a runner.

So, if I'm not running races, what does it mean to be a runner? In the most basic of terms, it means running 2-4 miles BEFORE my workouts. It means seeing a beautiful day and dropping everything to get some miles in outside. It means lusting after newly released colors for my old faithful style of running shoes.

But being a runner means waayyyyyy more than that. It means being able to commit to something really overwhelming, and accomplish goals. It means being a hard and smart worker. It means having the mental strength to complete a task when all you want to do is crawl into a hole. It means carrying on through struggles. It means moving forward when it hurts and when you really really want to stop moving altogether. It means hitting The Wall. It means falling into that horrifying place inside yourself that is deep and dark and feels claustrophobic and all you can do is rock and cry... but it also means having a crystallizing moment, and remembering that you can and really do already know how to to fly your way out. 

We all have our walls. We all have our struggles. I am an optimist; however I am enough of a realist to understand that my tough walls are only going to get darker and deeper as time goes on. But, New World, I can tell you this. With a lot of support and a lot of faith, I will always be able to fly over those walls and out of those deep, dark places. 

So even though I won't be sporting my long distance running shoes, I will always wear

My Wings.

Until next time, New World,

This is me. Bein me.

Cheers. :)