For the past two months I have devoted at least 25 hours a week to training for the NYC Marathon. For the months of September and October that number will rise to close to 35 hours a week. That will make my training comparable to having a second full time job. During these runs I am usually accompanied by friends with whom I discuss current events and ways to become a better educator. Tonight I went out for a speed workout by myself and began to think about how my career is similar to the race that I will run this November.
The first day of school begins with a stomach full of butterflies. As the gun goes off we shuffle uncertainly through the hazy morning. The first day feels vaguely familiar, similar to all those training runs that helped build up muscle memory, yet it will certainly be unique. It is usually nothing like the way they described it in the summer trainings or during all that planning and prep time. I see a blur of faces, some familiar but many new. Like the first few miles of the race my adrenaline will carry me. I pass smiling faces and hear words of encouragement and just like the weeks of the school year, the miles start to fly past.
The first moment of reflection comes at the end of the first marking period. By this time routines have been established, small aches and pains have been worked out and I have finally hit my stride. There is still a long school year left but I feel strong both physically and mentally and I know that all the training, planning and prep time has paid off.
I wish the midpoint of the race felt like the climber who has reached the apex of a mountain, as he knows that it is all downhill from that point. Unfortunately the hardest part of both a Marathon and the school year come toward the end of the year. As we return from winter break, the dreaded FCAT crunch begins and fatigue will quickly follow it. I know that I am more than halfway done and I feel physically able, however, the second 13 miles of the race seem exponentially longer. By mile 15 my body begins to show signs of deterioration. My classroom and the school around me begin to display similar signs of stress.
The hardest part of the race comes at mile 23. The invisible wall that many encounter can leave students paralyzed with fear as they face down their Scantron as well as the Marathoner dehydrated, cramped and bleeding on the side of a course. To make it through the last three miles of the school year takes guts, determination and at times the help of those around you. The last three miles of the marathon may as well be a million to the under prepared, and quitting seems like the only rational decision. A runner who skimped out on training would feel like they were looking in a mirror if they happened upon a teenager who has capitulated as he or she Christmas Trees a bubble sheet.
For many it will come suddenly and when all hope seems to have been lost. The finish line somehow becomes something tangible. It is concrete. It is not longer something that you could only visualize. There it is. It is still over a mile away but the streets are lined with encouragement. The school suddenly becomes electrified with energy. We almost made it. The countdowns become shorter and you can just make out the race clock. Like the start of the race your feet suddenly become swift as the lead somehow sublimates from your body. Positive thoughts reenter your body and as waves of emotions pass over you are somehow crossing the finish line, signing yearbooks, speaking at ceremonies and posing for pictures, shaking hands and giving high-fives. You receive congratulations on a job well done, the hard work paid off, and a myriad other descriptions of what a difficult task you just accomplished.
As the euphoria fades and life returns back to normal you reflect and make some notes on what you will do different the next time around. The experience will drive many to never return again, but those who are dedicated will learn from prior mistakes and come back year after year stronger, more able, and with wisdom of past experiences.
