The Nine-Year Marathon

An ad for the Marine Corps Marathon just popped up in my feed and I had to smile. I consider that race, which I ran to raise money for the Melanoma Research Foundation in 2010, as the starting point of a new life for me.

Let me explain.

The race itself was amazing. I ran the race (slowly), raised $13,000 dollars to help fight melanoma and stumbled across the finish line with the worst leg cramps I had ever had. I ran the last six miles of the race like that and never thought about quitting. Little did I know that it would be a metaphor for the days to come.

When we got home, our dog had died at the vet and I was called into our editor’s office and made part-time. That started another marathon that has lasted nine years.
Someday I will write about the whole experience, name names and give credit to those who changed my life. But not today. All I know as I sat in that office, I knew that as badly as what had just happened hurt, it would also be the best thing that ever happened to me.

And it has been.

Has it been easy? No. I still struggle from time to time. But I know that any struggle can be overcome with hustle. And I have tried to keep working really hard. Have I made mistakes? Hell yes. My attitude has not always been as good as it should be and I haven’t focused on what I’m supposed to be doing. It’s really easy to fall into a pity party when you are tired and frustrated. Self doubt still occasionally creeps into my head late at night.
But I have learned this about myself — if you don’t believe in me, I will prove you wrong. I might have temporary setbacks but I will not fail. My parents’ illness and death, which you probably have read about, kicked my ass hard. It set off my fight-or-flight mode (which I’ve had for a long time) and pushed me into a dark place. I just now feel like I am starting to crawl out of that hole. If you’ve experienced complicated grief, you know what I am talking about.

Four nine years, I have had angels who have protected this fool. In the next few weeks, I am going to write each of them and thank them for how they saved me from myself. It has been hard on my wife and family, too — but even though I have not been easy to live with, they stuck with me.

When dad taught me to grab the ski-rope so I could change my story to “how I got back up” not “how I fell down” after a nasty fall, he taught me a skill that got me through cancer, my profession imploding and the challenges left behind by both. He taught me to use my creativity to change my story. Nine years into the marathon, I’m about to change my story again.

I will finish the race strong.

To those who believe in me, thank you. To those who don’t, you are fuel. God and my family are good. I know I am a blessed man.

Now if you will excuse me, I have some work to do.

P.S. The reason I still am going is that I have been blessed to live in a community who reached out and believed in me and my work. In 2007, I chose not to move to Tulsa because I sensed something bad was on the horizon and I knew that I would be OK in Mississippi. I was right and I thank YOU for reading my work and supporting me.