As I sit here waiting for my toenails to officially fall off, I will recount how crazy I was to run a half marathon without ~really~ training for it. Let me take us back to my Sophomore in college. I had just quit college Tennis, because of my anxiety, which turned out stemmed mostly from the sport, and I had quickly gained 50 pounds and was crying staring in the mirror at my new stretch marks. College was more about me struggling with my physical and mental health than it was about me doing well in my classes or finding my forever boyfriend. I had a switch flip my senior year when I realized the transformation I had been undergoing was not for my benefit, I was unhealthy, and I was sick and tired of being the fat funny friend. Now I’m the sexii funny friend (LMAO JK BUT NOT REALLY SELF ASSURANCE IS IMPORTANT), but TBQH I haven’t been trying that hard, except for running a few days a week and being too poor to afford real food.
I have been a chronic underachiever my whole life. I have always done well in school, but I could have done better. I was a good tennis player, but had my diet not solely consisted of Cheetos and bagels (plz refer to rapid weight gain) I probably would have been better. I love excuses. Any valid reason to get me out of doing something I don’t want to do. So when high time for training for this half happened I got “sick”, and then my mom came, and soon it was 6 days before the race and I hadn’t been running more than three miles. Then a day before the race I got my period like I had never gotten one before, and I was in bed unable to move from cramps. I truly did not think I was going to pull this off. But yesterday I went, and I did the damn thing. Yes, at points I thought my uterus was going to fall out while I simultaneously thought I was going to shit my pants. Yes, when I took a drink of water I almost fainted from tipping my head back too far. Yes, after my race I chased the bus to the next stop and won, because I am a crazy person. But I did it, and I did it faster and stronger than I could have ever hoped for. Not a lot of people can say that, except for like every white person I know who also ran a half marathon last weekend. I may not have done it right, or well, but I did it my way.
I would classify myself now as a high achieving under achiever. I, for whatever reason, pick the hardest things to do, and I do them, but in a way that leaves people rolling their eyes and my haphazard successes. I see hard work through my comedy in the hundreds of shows I’ve seen, and hundreds of hours spent in class and practices (and thousands of dollars I’ve spent). Maybe one day I’ll be a high achieving high achiever, but where’s the stake in that? I fully attribute my success in my race yesterday to being a college athlete for the time that I was. Tennis is an endurance sport, as is a half marathon, the two are friends. I am their enemy, because I am equally good and bad at both of them. Maybe I’ll work really hard at something someday, hopefully it’s a TV show, or creating a sick instagram for my dog. Until that time comes, I’ll keep putting things on my vision board and hoping they happen, and warming up pizza rolls in the microwave.