What was I thinking? That’s the question I’ve been asking myself these days. I have a hard time accepting defeat. Keeping a promise to one’s self requires discipline, so I visualize accomplishing my goal and feeling good about it.

I was caught up in the moment. Standing at the finish line of the Beach to Beacon last year, I cheered when my husband crossed the finish line. It was an exhilarating gathering with much fanfare and joy as runners crossed the line to cheers, the band playing, and the much deserved pampering – massages, beverages, food, and congratulations. These runners had earned it all, and something inside me said, “I want a piece of this action.”

At a gathering of friends that evening last year I announced that I would run the Beach to Beacon next year. My husband – the logical, calculating, engineer married to me, whom he describes in two words, random and spontaneous – said, “You’ll have to train.”

“Not to worry, I’ve got plenty of time,” I replied. But his advice did get me thinking. The farthest I’ve ever run in my life was four miles, and that was 20 years ago!

When fall arrived, I decided to start my training, nice and slow, with a walking program. I called a friend, and it was decided that 5 a.m. worked best for both of our schedules.

But after two weeks, we each had found convenient reasons why that didn’t work – it was dark and getting cold at that hour in the morning. Besides, the race wasn’t until next August – there’s plenty of time to train later. So, why rush it?

When February arrived, my husband suggested that I join the gym, and go with him in the wee hours of the early morning. I agreed. He had a regiment down – I awoke to Coast to Coast AM on the radio at 4:45 a.m. In my drifting state, I listened to the guests on the show, stumbled out of bed with one thought on my mind: People up at this hour are crazy.

Going along for the car ride to the gym, cold and barely awake, I questioned the priority around every bend in the road: “No coffee first?” This was a true sacrifice of early morning ritual that I savored: sleep followed by coffee. I could think of no reason why I should be denying myself of either. What had I gotten myself into?

With a gym membership, treadmill running time was flexible, and the lure of the hot steamy sauna was incentive enough to schedule my training later in the day so that there’d be time to bask in the luxury of a steamy sauna. But then there was the dilemma: Where was I to find all this time to exercise and sauna? I decided it was time to pick up the pace. If I jogged rather than walked, there’d be time for both.

This plan was good for a week, but then my hips began to hurt, or shall we say, ache. The pain lasted weeks, and eventually I made my way back to walking by late April. I decided that maybe I’d enjoy this more if I breathed some fresh air. I suspended my gym membership and took to the streets, but when the pain continued, I treated myself to a massage. The massage therapist offered me advice – begin stretching and use weights.

So off to the sporting goods store I went to purchase weights. When it came to pressing and lifting, I was amazed at how heavy those 5 pound weights are. I decided to buy 3 and 5 pound weights. My weight training, like running, would be a gradual process. Making my way to the cash register was a workout in itself. When the clerk rung up the sale, she announced that the weights were too heavy for bags and inquired: Would you like assistance carrying them out to the car? Fearful of yet another training set back, I accepted her offer.

Nine weeks to race day, my husband asked me if I was seriously going to run this race.

It was hardly an enthusiastic yes, but a promise made is a promise kept, even to myself. My training would make a professional trainer cringe. As I plodded out a two mile run, nice and slow, I convinced myself that if I absolutely had to, I can plod out six miles just once, come race day. Yes, it’s safe to say, I’m just going to wing it! When I announced this strategy to my friend, the parish secretary, she said, “You can’t do that, you’re going to die!” Seeing that she was holding the little black book – the one she uses to schedule the funerals, I suggested that she book mine while she was at it!

For me, running is torture every last step of the way. I’ve tried everything to make it better – new running shoes, head phones, and prayer. And, I’ll confess, it isn’t my thing. Running the Beach to Beacon will be a once in a lifetime experience. I’ll be able to say, “been there, done that” and thank God the experience will be behind me. To those who truly love to run, enjoy the race, and happy running!