I didn't look pretty at mile three. Granted, not many people do three miles into a run, nor should that ever really be a primary concern, but I feel like it's an important piece to the story. I was dripping in sweat, probably grunting, and most definitely swearing under my breath. Misery consumed me three miles in.
I made it to mile four and started having an inner argument with myself:
Hannah1: there's no shame in walking, you know.
Hannah2: suck it up!
Hannah1: but I want to go to bed. It's 5:30 in the morning.
Hannah2: suck it up!
That continued for about another mile or so, and somehow I made it to mile five. At this point, I was not only physically exhausted, my brain was also throwing in the towel; it was fed up from arguing with itself and quite ready to give up on running, the day, and if it had any way, quite possibly give up on me, as well.
And then, something magical happened: I saw another runner. There was someone else up and actually running at 5:30 on this suppressingly muggy summer morning. As we approached each other, I noticed that she, too, looked miserable. Not just miserable. She looked how I imagined I looked, too: face distorted in pain, body fighting every step, sweat flying off of every limb.
We looked at each other, nodded, smiled, and then laughed. Instant camaraderie. In that moment, we were one. We shared the same struggle, battle, and ultimately, the same domination. Yes, it was a fleeting association, but it was enough to get me through that last mile. More than that, it was enough to make me want to get up tomorrow morning and repeat the whole process. Because when you really think about it, sometimes all you need to "suck it up" is a shared smile from a stranger.
