Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb: Comfort zone, be gone.

Last month I climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Yes, harbour here includes the letter u because that’s how you spell the word in The Land Down Under. 

I want to get the memories written down so I don’t forget. I have tons of pictures, but pictures only tell one part of a story. Plus, this was something I was wicked stressed about doing.  Yet I got it done. The climb is a good reminder that yes, even in my dotage I can still do hard things.That bridge climb was one of my favorite experiences ever. 

Though in truth climbing the bridge wasn’t hard at all. Getting there was though. 

Here’s how it went for me. 

Though I was in Australia almost three weeks, I was only due to be in Sydney a total of five nights. Scheduling the climb was the hardest thing about it. 

Our days were packed: 

Thursday:  late afternoon arrival from Adelaide, then Marathon Expo. 

Friday: morning city tour, three-hour break then walk to harbour with a u, then three-hour cruise.  

Saturday: free day until 4:30 pre-race dinner. 

Sunday: marathon. 

Monday: all-day wine tour. 

Tuesday: depart for Cairns, which is pronounced the way New Englanders say ‘cans’.

With Saturday the only free day for the bridge climb and Sunday being the marathon, I was worried about the timing. Didn’t seem like the smartest thing, to climb then descend 1,332 steps the day before a 26.2-mile run. But when would I be in Sydney again?

I went back and forth on whether to stay in and rest on Saturday or do the climb. Suspect I was hoping that the decision would be made for me, and the bridge climb would sell out before I could register. 

In the end, I signed up the day before my departure to Australia. Turns out the bridge climb didn’t sell out anyhow. I could have shown up the day of and easily gotten in. Not sure if this is standard all year round. Technically it was still winter in Sydney, which as I understand, is a quieter season for tourists, so maybe that’s one reason there were still day of openings?

Maybe the weather had something to do with all the openings. It was a blustery day, with winds topping 30 miles an hour for much of it. God knows what the wind would be like on the expansive, open top of a bridge. (I found out!)  When I saw the weather report, I considered backing out. Then figured these folks were pros. They’d cancel if the weather was dangerous. They weren’t canceling so, gulp, here goes. 

The tour entrance was built into one of the bridge pylons, an easy downhill a mile from my hotel, past office and government buildings and into The Rocks, a quainter, more historic section of narrow lanes lined with old pubs, upscale restaurants, artsy boutiques, and lots of outdoor market stalls. After checking in at the front desk, I wandered through the adjacent souvenir store/cafe before making my way upstairs to the waiting area. 

Timing was oddly specific, with groups entering the pre-climb area every five minutes or so. My entry ticket time: 10:05. 

Me and the dozen other folks on the tour - two little families, a couple, and a few fellow singletons, entered a hallway with lots of doors.  Each door led to a staging area. In the first, we sat in a semicircle and were asked to say our first name, our country, and one interesting thing about ourselves. I said I was doing my 98^thmarathon the next day. Another woman said she was doing Sydney too, and it was her first marathon. Two folks were celebrating an anniversary. One gent was visiting his 48^th country. He was the only other person besides me from North America. All the other folks were local. There were a few kids who shyly gave their names and grades, middle and high schoolers. One woman said she was terrified of heights and was there to challenge herself. We all clapped loudly for her. 

Next, we watched a slide show where we got to see the astronaut-type coveralls we’d be wearing and reviewed safety guidelines. Because we would be so high off the ground, dropping even small items would likely severely injure or possibly kill anyone below. We weren’t allowed to carry phones or water bottles. Any dangling jewelry needed to be removed, including watches, bracelets, earrings. Anything we needed, like hats or eyeglasses, would be attached to our suits. 

Next, we entered another room where we were given our uniforms and instructed on how to wear them. We were reminded to use the bathrooms, as there were none on the bridge, and were reminded to grab a sip of water if we wanted, because we wouldn’t have anything to drink until we returned. 

We each were given a breathalyzer test. No alcohol allowed in any way, shape, or form either on or in our bodies. They were very strict about this. 

Next, we were led into a giant locker room area with rows of curtained changing rooms. I understand that in warmer weather, folks are advised to strip to their skivvies due to the heat.  Due to the windy, colder conditions, we were told to leave our street clothes on.  Our coveralls zipped up both the front and back, were hooded and had attached mittens. Staff helped us as needed. 

We stored our valuables in lockers, and wore the keys on chains around our necks, tucked securely inside our suits. Staff secured my reading and sunglasses to my suit on the attached carabiners. Staff double- and triple-checked that we were all safely attired. 

In single file we walked into a tall room, about the size of a basketball court. Standing on marked spots, which we were assigned based on our height – I was with the middle schoolers, we were inspected once more and then given a baseball cap or a knitted hat, our choice. I took the cap. The bridge folks attached this to my suit. 

We were instructed to step forward and into the safety harness across from us, one leg first, then the next, then pulled up and over our shoulders. Then we buckled the harness at the waist. Personnel ensured that these fit snugly.

A few steps to the next staging area, and each of us stood at yet another marked spot. Here, we were given earmuff-like headsets and a radio, both then clipped to our harness.  Then we met our best friend, our belaying device, which was also secured in place. By now we had a team leader. He tested each of our radios and headsets to make sure they worked. 

Then came the fun part. 

Many of us, me included, had gasped a little as we approached this staging section because of the giant elephant in the room – a bunch of ladders that we knew we’d have to climb to prepare for the bridge. 

It was time to practice.

We were taught how to attach our belaying device to the steel rod that would secure us to the ladder structure, then practiced going up one ladder, traversed a corner, then up another ladder, across a small, one-person wide bridge, then down two ladders that also included a few corner elements. 

In total we climbed and descended perhaps twenty feet. I remember thinking, “If I’m so stressed out now, how the heck will I survive climbing ladders that are hundreds of feet off the ground?” From that point on, I resolved to not think so much. 

Then it was go-time. 

Our intrepid little team left the staging area, still single file, and posed for before pics. Then we attached our belaying devices to the steel rail that we would follow for our entire two-hour journey to the top of the bridge and back. 

 As the rooms we were in were already located deep in one of the giant legs of the bridge’s foundation, we didn’t have far to go. Simply down a narrow hall and out the door and boom. Just like that, we were on the bridge, already a few stories above the street. 

No biggie. That’s what I told myself. Then I reminded myself to stop thinking. 

Via our headsets, our guide shared history about Sydney, the Opera House a half mile away, and bridge construction. Our pathway was narrow, just wide enough so that if our leader needed to leave his post at the front and get to someone in the back of the line, he’d be able to do so easily. While we weren’t enclosed by walls on either side, we had railings, one of which we stayed attached to for the duration of the trip. 

The wind picked up -- that’s an understatement, as we moved forward, our nylon leashes clanging along on the steel rod as we ascended. The entire trek, we negotiated sustained wind gusts of up to 60 miles per hour. My cap kept flying off, and my headphones constantly slid to my back. I don’t recall much of what we were told that day.  I do recall the anxiety at the start. This, coupled with driving winds is what stands out the most about our initial ascent. 

In front of me was a nervous high schooler. Behind was the 48-country guy. We all laughed and joked and talked about the wind. Occasionally my leash would stick as we took corners. That nice guy behind me was always there to help jiggle it forward.  

I never felt unsafe, not once. Even as we climbed the three ladders to move on to the next bridge level. Even as the wind battered us. The first many minutes of the trip to the top, I kept my eyes focused on the path ahead of me. The wind was so treacherous I was worried I’d get blown off the structure. “Get out of your head!” That’s what I kept telling myself.

The guide was so kind, and we were all laughing and chatting. I started relaxing, and bravely started observing everything around me, the boats cruising in the distance, the city scape behind us, the tourists, like dots, on the streets and ferries far below. 

The grade never got super steep. It was a gradual uphill, for the most part a ramp.  Though as we crested the bridge, we did hit a couple dozen shallow stairs.  At the top, an awesome 440 feet above the water, we posed for pictures. The guide shared stories about marriage proposals that had taken place there. Some went well. Some were bad. We laughed a lot. The wind continued to whip us but at that point I think we’d all accepted it as just another part of the adventure. One person said it made the trip even more memorable. That’s for sure. 

If you examine bridge pictures, you see that the midpoint of the bridge is marked by a couple of flags, the Australian flag and the New South Wales state flag, It was at that point that we crossed to the other side, the walkway still narrow, still protected on each side by rails. The entire time, we stayed leashed to our trusty steel rod. Then we began our slow descent. 

During both the ascending and descending parts of the trip, we’d occasionally stop for several minutes while our guide took our individual photos. As we ascended, good doobies all, we dutifully clutched our railing with both hands. We’d gotten relaxed over the next hour. At one point while waiting to descend, the kid in front of me put all his weight on his arms, lifted himself up, and let the wind carry him back and forth like he was a flag. It was a cool scene, but the teacher in me couldn’t resist: “Dude, if you think I’m going after you if you fall over the side, think again.” Then I told him I was impressed. 

When we reached the three ladders we’d need to descend, the mood, for all of us I think, shifted from relaxed back to anxious again. For one, the wind was even more brutal than ever. For another, going down a ladder is harder than going up. One at a time we descended, under the watchful gazes of a guide at the top and another at the bottom. Far below us, cars and trucks rumbled across the bridge highway. 

Suddenly we were back, just a few stories above the earth. As we walked what seemed now like a short distance to the building entrance, we laughed, whooped, and shouted thanks to our guide. Once inside again we found ourselves in the gym where the ladders stood. Under the direction of our guide, we removed our safety harnesses and hung them up, then detached our glasses, caps, belayer devices and other paraphernalia, depositing these into specifically marked slots. Our hair was disheveled, faces ruddy and wind burnt.  I felt invigorated and alive, like I could now go forth and do anything I set my mind to. 

We collected our things from our lockers and as we walked out were presented with an opportunity to buy the photos our guide had taken. As part of our package, we got to keep our hats, and we each received a complimentary group photo taken at the mid-point of the bridge. I’m not a big fan of company-produced photos, but we weren’t allowed to bring cameras or phones with us, so I had opted when I registered to buy the photo package. I’m glad I did. Who knows when or if I’ll ever be back? Though I do hope to return some day. 

It’s been over a month since the climb. I don’t remember everything and I’m guessing I’ve probably messed up some of the specifics. But here’s something I’m sure of: That was one of the best days of my life. And I’ve had a great life, so that means something. As I set new goals and plans, I know this memory of a time I literally climbed out of my comfort zone will spur me on to new highs. I’m ready. 

Everything. I'm afraid of everything.

 “What are you afraid of?”

That was my mother. I don’t remember the context exactly. I know it was sometime in the mid-90s. I picture me, my mom, dad, and two daughters sitting at a table in an Italian restaurant one town over. It’s dusky outside and in. Probably mid-week, because that’s when my parents liked to take us out. 

I remember the tone of her voice: irritated. 

I remember my mood in response: pissed.  Beyond pissed. 

Pretty sure I said nothing. Or something non-committal like: “I dunno.” Maybe I shrugged. 

How else to respond to those words, that tone, in a public place with impressionable kids nearby?  Also, if I responded truthfully, I’d break open a dam and out would spill a river of paragraphs that would kill me to say, damage my kids to hear, and probably barely impact my interrogator. 

I don’t think my mom ever understood how much courage you need to: go to court on your own, file restraining orders, testify in front of judges, lawyers, family, and strangers about awful things, work 14-hour days and at the same time keep it together enough to raise two kids. Just getting out of bed was a struggle back then. 

What I was afraid of in the 90s: everything. I was stumbling through uncharted territory, living a nightmare of a life that, in simplest terms, I never expected or felt I deserved to live.  One shoe would drop. Then another. Storms of dropped shoes every second of every day. It was awful.  

I didn’t have the words at the time to describe my headspace then, but I have them now: depression, anxiety, all due to and part of a whopping case of post-traumatic stress disorder. Well, it’s “post” now. During most of the 90s it was present. Worst thing ever?  At the time, yes. The birds of sadness were not just nesting in my hair. They were pecking at my brain and chewing on my innards. (see Sharon Creech, Walk Two Moons.)

Now, with decades of distance, therapy, and lots of time for reflection, I’ve developed some skills. I still have residual stuff, including the occasional trigger, but for the most part have learned how to cope and move on. 

Have yet to meet a person whose life has gone as planned, though back in the ‘90s everyone was doing better than I was. Or so I thought. Like I said, I know more now than I knew then. I still have a lot to learn.  

One thing I know for sure. That moment when my mother asked me, “What are you afraid of?” Irritated the crap out of me back then. But now? I embrace the whole scene like a gift.

Whenever I’m afraid to step outside of my comfort zone --  choosing to run a race I know I’ll struggle to finish, or, like this very minute, as I struggle to write something I’m not sure I’m really ready to write, I think back to that night in the restaurant, and my mother’s words. 

I recall the tone especially, and how awful I felt as I struggled to come to terms with a response, any response, and couldn’t, because deep down, even as I had an answer – that my life right now was fraught with worry and fear and she had no idea – I was wondering too about anger, fear, and who I wanted to be, and how the heck would I ever get there. 

I was teaching sixth grade in 2001 and had some close relationships with some awesome parents. Of course I told everyone back then, my fellow teachers, students, parents that I was running the Boston Marathon, because that’s who I was at the time. 

One of the parents who I chatted with at dismissal nearly every day, gave me a book of courage quotes to help keep me motivated. Her last name translates to “king.” So, every time I think of her, even now, I picture a crown on her head. 

Before every long run for Boston 2001 – every, single, long run, I kid you not – I read a page from that book, which sat right on top of my bureau so I couldn’t miss it. I’d open randomly to any spot. I’d read that quote and as I ran, often further than I ever thought possible, I’d keep that quote in my heart. I’d think it. Sometimes I’d even shout it. 

That book is trashed now, because I taped pages from it all over the house – my bedroom mirror, bathroom mirror, kitchen cabinets, refrigerator, and to my pencilholder, stapler, index card box, and file cabinet at school. Here’s a favorite quote that I repeat even now, after all these years: “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear.” 

My mother is in my heart with every breath I take. Her words, including, “What are you afraid of?” They’re everywhere all the time, embedded in every fiber of my being. For better, worse, best, I am my mother’s daughter.  

Life has changed a lot since she passed. Often, I still walk with fear. But you know what? That’s a good thing. In fact, fear is one of my best ever triggers. If I want something hard and I want it bad enough and I’m afraid either to go for it or that I will fail, my mother’s words come hard and fast. And in that same instant, so does courage. And resolve. 

The whole reason for writing today was to get down on paper before I forget, what it was like to climb the Sydney Harbor Bridge. I was going to write about how I was afraid at first. My brain told me I needed to write this instead.

I’m sure the memory of climbing that bridge will be just as clear tomorrow as it is today. 

But now I need to sign up for my next overseas race. It’s in an absolutely crazy location and the logistics of getting there are a little overwhelming. There are fear triggers everywhere. I know I’m not totally ready to do this. But I’m going to try. 

Forward, courage.  

 

 

 

 

Thinking through 26.2: On finishing the 100th

Lots of big feelings, overwhelmingly big feelings, during my 100^th marathon last week, which I’m still attempting to come to terms with. 

Yesterday’s music post was one step in the process. Today’s post is another. Here are some thoughts about that day. 

I told no one – other than my daughters, a friend or two at home, and a friend who would be volunteering at the water stop, that I was doing my 100^th race. One reason: I didn’t want to count my blisters before they hatched. What if something bad happened and I didn’t reach the finish line? Tokyo still stings. 

Sadness.  Those 100 marathons took me 24 years. Everything is different now. Some things are good.  But there have been some horribly overwhelming events. The deaths have been relentless and life-shifting:  Both my parents, my paternal grandmother, so many beloved pets, and too many dear friends. Last visit to this race, I roomed with one of those friends. She passed, suddenly and unexpectedly, two years ago. This 100^th race was a moment for celebration, yes. But it was also a time for remembering. 

When my father died in 2017, I had finished 23 marathons in the previous 16 years. In the year after his death, I did 30 and then kept going. I started running races abroad after my mother passed in 2023. In total, seventy-seven marathons in eight years? Absolutely positively without any doubt whatsoever a massive coping mechanism. Yes I was joyful, but too, my heart was heavy on 100 marathons day. That’s an understatement. 

Imposter syndrome. Not sure if that’s the right phrase here. My thinking:  There are so many more people out there who’ve done so much more than I could ever hope to do. My achievement is minor in comparison.  Proof: That day I was surrounded by people who normally do 30, 40, 70 of these races or more a year. These folks have done hundreds, even thousands of marathons. Add to that the fact that I was walking this race, not running it – which is what “real” marathoners do, what I wanted to do, what I can’t do much of any more. . . talk about feeling inadequate. 

And reading that over I feel like a huge asshole because it sounds like I’m denigrating folks who choose to walk vs. run. I’m not. Let me be clear. I’m not judging anyone but me. I used to be faster and I want to be faster. I always think I should be able to do more. Even when concrete evidence shows that I can’t. Even when I let my own laziness gets in the way.  Always been and continue to be my own harshest critic. This has nothing to do with anyone but me and my mindset. My feelings of inadequacy: infinite. 

Center of attention. No thank you. At this race, one in a series, they make big deals about achievements. Ugh. I’m not a fan of being the center of attention. For example, I hate surprise parties.  For example, one of the most uncomfortable days of my life was my wedding. It was big and over the top.  I hated being dressed up and on display.  If I ever get married again, God forbid and shoot me if I do, it will be a spur of the moment thing at a Vegas drive-thru or in some backwater town hall with no one else around: The bride wore sweatpants. . . 

Some words/ phrases that played on repeat that day, some with attributions: 

“In the course of a lifetime, what does it matter.” (from Walk Two Moons, by Sharon Creech)

“I miss my mother.” (ditto)

“The birds of sadness were nesting in her hair.” (ditto)

“Impossible is nothing.” (Muhammad Ali)

“Live your life. Live your life.” (My dad, who’d say this to me while we were out at yet another of his medical appointments. In the next breath he’d remind me that we also needed to go to X, Y, Z, A, B,C, etc. after that appointment or on the next day or week. . . and so on).

“The only way over is through.”

“If you can hold on, hold on.” (“All These Things That I’ve Done,” The Killers)

“Life is short. Running makes it seem longer.” 

“I’m not dead yet.” (Monty Python and the Holy Grail)

“He’s only mostly dead.” (The Princess Bride)

Age is only a number is what I tell myself every birthday. 100 is only a number is what I told myself on race day. I could have just as easily been finishing marathon 15, or 99 or 120. I used to not think this way. I remember finishing marathon #12, Manchester, NH, 2010. I was beyond thrilled.  A dozen marathons?  Who’da thunk I had it in me. 

At the finish line, so beyond ridiculously proud of myself, I said to a volunteer, “I just finished my twelfth marathon!” Her response: “Hey great. Here’s a medal.” Then she moved on to the next person. Felt a little deflating but didn’t in any way hinder my joy. Though I think it’s interesting I remember that moment. 

At the end of my 100^th, I rang the bell I was supposed to ring so the race guys could write down my time. “Congratulations. We heard the news,” one of them said. 

“I finished about three hours later than that first one 24 years ago,” I said. 

“I’ve heard that’s how it seems to go,” one said. 

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. 

There were two women there as well, deep in conversation. They’d finished right before me. 

“That was my 100^th marathon,” I said to them. 

They both replied with something generic, like, “That’s great.” Then went back to whatever they were talking about. 

A few folks at the water/ snack table congratulated me and we got to talking. Some then used the opportunity to talk about all that they’d accomplished. One runner mentioned how he’d only started marathoning ten years ago, at retirement age. He’s accomplished a hell of a lot more since then than I think I ever will. I started feeling inadequate, like I needed to explain why it took me almost a quarter of a century to get to 100. And I began talking about how hard it was being a single mother while training for my early marathons. But then I thought: “What’s the point? He doesn’t want to know and I don’t really feel I need to justify anything. I’m just grateful to be here.”

 

“Everyone has their own agenda,” (WTM, Creech) that’s another line that kept playing in my head while I was out there, pounding my way to the finish line. We all have our own reasons, goals, obstacles, that play into doing what we do. I still don’t know why I did what I did. (Well, I have a rough idea and will likely write more about that another time.) I still mostly don’t know why I do what I do. 

 

“There is beauty all around me.” 

That’s a line, corrupted by memory, from the Navajo Blessing Way Ceremony, which celebrates walking in harmony with yourself, others, nature. It’s been in my head constantly for months now. In Australia it played non-stop. Ditto on 100^th race day. 

Here’s more of it, more accurately:

  In beauty I walk

 With beauty before me I walk

 With beauty behind me I walk

With beauty above me I walk

With beauty around me I walk

It has become beauty again

 

One of my favorite quotes from The Princess Bride, one of my favorite movies, is “Go back to the beginning.” Inigo Montoya, a drunk who’s made a mess of his life, does this at the instruction of his boss, and that action changes everything. On race day, I mentally went back to my first 26.2,  Boston Marathon 2001, and then to before that -- raising my girls, then being a girl myself, and so on. It’s all part of my process.  

 

Always loved this quote, too: “Finish lines are starting lines in disguise.” By the end of the race, you’ve lived a whole other life. At the finish, you’re not the same person who started. Still the “gold-hearted girl I used to be,” way back at my first marathon, (misquote of the Killers’ “All These Things That I’ve Done”), though my hair is grayer and my heart, like other body parts, has been broken and mended more times than I can count. 

 

What’s next? I don't know. I have some plans, but nothing is set in stone. Lots to think about. Lots to not think about. But one way or another, I’m at a new starting line. I am on cloud nine. I feel so lucky to be right here. Right now. 

Ready, set, start.  

 

 

A History of Music: 100 Marathons Edition

Words matter. When combined with a strong beat and catchy tune? Watch out world, here I come. 

Three days ago, I finished my 100^th race of 26.2 miles or more. I’m trying to come to terms with what that means. This list is my start. 

These songs got me through tough times, running and otherwise. I no longer listen to every single one as religiously as I once did. But some are angels that continue to lift me up and move me forward when things get rocky. This list is in chronological order, roughly, from the year 2000, when I started training for marathon #1, to now. In some cases, I note why these songs matter to me. Sometimes, I pinpoint lyrics that were and/ or are especially meaningful. 

What I got from this exercise: a musical visit with some of the best and worst memories ever, and yet another reminder that perseverance, resilience, endurance need constant nurturing. Music not only soothes this savage beast, but it also inspires me as well. Here’s my last quarter century, one song at a time. 

 

“Born to Run,” Bruce Springsteen. The whole song is my alpha and omega. 

“Rosalita.” Take heart. Courage.  “Jump a little higher.” “Winners use the door.”

“Badlands.”  “Let the broken heart stand for the price you’ve gotta pay.”

“Thunder Road.” “I ain’t no hero that’s understood.” 

 

“Disappear.” INXS. Sometimes, running is effortless. 

  You're so fine, lose my mind
  And the world seems to disappear
  All the problems, all the fears
  And the world seems to disappear

 

“Head Over Heels” The Go-Go’s. Self-explanatory: “Been running so fast/ right from the starting line/. . . can’t stop myself /out of control.”

 

“Young American.” David Bowie. Not so much the words, but the music is phenomenal. 

“Heroes.” “We can be heroes just for one day.”

 

 

“Don’t Stop Me Now.” Queen. The whole song - words, music, is perfection.

“Keep Yourself Alive.” Ditto. 

 

“American Girl.” Tom Petty. “She couldn’t stop thinking that there was a little more to life, somewhere else.” Still think this. 

“Running Down a Dream.”  Still: “Searching for a mystery. Going wherever it leads.” 

“I Won’t Back Down.” Be relentless: “There ain’t no easy way out/ I’ll stand my ground/ And I won’t back down. “

 

“Handle with Care.” Traveling Wilburys. Be resilient. 

  I've been uptight and made a mess
  But I'll clean it up myself, I guess
  Oh, the sweet smell of success

“End of the Line.” Be you. “Well, it's all right/ even if they say you're wrong/
Well, it's all right/ sometimes you gotta be strong

 

“Running to Stand Still.” U2.  Truth. “She is raging she is raging. . . she’s running to stand still.”

“Who’s Gonna to Ride Your Wild Horses.” Eyes forward. “Come on now love/ don't you look back.”

“Mysterious Ways.” It’s okay. Hard things take time. “It's all right, it's all right, it's all right/
She moves in mysterious ways.”

“Stuck in a Moment.” Self-explanatory. I still recite this as I run, sometimes:

  I'm not afraid of anything in this world
  There's nothing you can throw at me that I haven't already heard
  I’m just trying to find a decent melody
  A song that I can sing in my own company

 

 

“The Rising.” Springsteen. Every. Single. Word.

“My City of Ruins.” To my legs, to my mood: “C’mon rise up.” 

 

“Come to My Window.” Melissa Etheridge. Gotta get to that finish line. 

  You don't know how far I'd go to ease this precious ache
  And you don't know how much I'd give

  or how much I can take
  Just to reach you

“I Want to Come Over.” Leave it all out on the course:  “To hell with the consequence.”

 

“Bat Out of Hell." Meatloaf. The driving beat, the Wagnerian sturm und drang, the ride or die craziness. 

  Oh, baby you're the only thing in this whole world 
  That's pure and good and right. 
  And wherever you are and wherever you go 
  There's always gonna be some light, 
  But I gotta get out, I gotta break out now 
  Before the final crack of dawn.

 

“I Would Do Anything for Love.” Questions to ask during a run:

  Will you raise me up? 

  Will you help me down?
  Will you get me right out of this godforsaken town?
  Can you make it all a little less cold?

   I can do that

 

 

“It’s My Life.” Bon Jovi.  Self-explanatory. “It’s now or never/ I ain’t gonna live forever/ I just want to live while I’m alive”

“Livin’ on a Prayer.”  Trust the process. “Take my hand and we’ll make it I swear.”

“Wide Open Spaces.” The Chicks. Even now, at my advanced age: 

  She needs wide open spaces
  Room to make her big mistakes
  She needs new faces
  She knows the high stakes

 

“Not Ready to Make Nice.” Not ready to settle for less than what I deserve. 

  I'm not ready to make nice,
  I'm not ready to back down,
  I'm still mad as hell
  And I don't have time
  To go round and round and round

"The Long Way Around." You have to be who you need to be. 

  Guess I could have made it easier on myself

  But I, I could never follow
  No I, I could never follow

  Well, I never seem to do it like anybody else
  Maybe someday, someday I'm gonna settle down
  If you ever want to find me I can still be found

  Taking the long way
  Taking the long way around

 

“Don’t You Forget About Me.” Simple Minds. Everything about this song. 

“Alive and Kicking.” It’s perfection. 

 

“Silver Spring.” Fleetwood Mac. In reference to every single marathon: “Time casts a spell on you /but you won't forget me.”

 

 

“Land of Hope and Dreams.” Springsteen. All of it, but in particular this, because things do get better: “Dreams will not be thwarted/ This train/ Faith will be rewarded.”

“Devils and Dust.” A reminder to keep going, even when you’re afraid.  

 We're just trying to survive
 What if what you do to survive kills the things you love
 Fear’s a powerful thing
 It'll turn your heart black you can trust
 It'll take your God filled soul
 Fill it with devils and dust

“Long Walk Home.” Always makes me laugh when this comes on and I’m walking during a race and I still have a long way to go, and yes, I know it’s about some serious stuff. 

 It's gonna be a long walk home
 Hey pretty darling, don't wait up for me
 Gonna be a long walk home
 A long walk home

“Girls in Their Summer Clothes.” This line always makes me smile: “I ain't got much sense but I still got my feet.”

 

“I Drove All Night.” Cyndi Lauper.  A reminder to stay the course: “I drove all night to get to you/ Is that alright?

“Time After Time.” Have faith in yourself.  

 If you're lost, you can look, and you will find me
 Time after time
 If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting
 Time after time

“True Colors.” Believe.  

 And I'll see your true colors
 Shining through
 I see your true colors
 And that's why I love you
 So don't be afraid to let it show

 Your true colors

 

“I’ll Remember.” Madonna. Homage to loved ones gone too soon. 

 I'll remember the strength that you gave me
 Now that I'm standing on my own
 I'll remember the way that you saved me
 I'll remember

“Like a Prayer.” After a while, the marathon course feels like home. Weird, I know. 

 Life is a mystery
 Everyone must stand alone
 I hear you call my name
 And it feels like home

“All These Things That I’ve Done.” The Killers. Everything. This song is everything. 

“Crossfire.” Brandon Flowers. Don’t give up. 

 Tell the devil that he can go back from where he came
 His fiery arrows drew their bead in vain
 And when the hardest part is over, we'll be here
 And our dreams will break the boundaries of our fears
 Boundaries of our fears

“Magdalena.” There’s no substitute for solid, old-fashioned, hard work. 

 Please don't tell me I can't make it
 It ain't gonna do me any good
 And please don't offer me your modern methods
 I'm fixing to carve this out of wood

 

 

“You and I.” Lady Gaga. Persistence. 

 It's been a long time since I came around
 Been a long time but I'm back in town
 And this time I'm not leaving without you (the “you” in this case being a finisher medal)

“Bad Romance.” This is a great song. Building your life around running marathons is an absolutely spot-on example of being in a crazy relationship: “I want your love and I want your revenge/You and me could write a bad romance.” 

 

“Hit Me with Your Best Shot.” Pat Benatar. This entire song because at least once per race this is how I think: “Knock me down/ it's all in vain/I get right back on my feet again.”

“All Fired Up.” Had to blast this song on repeat as I got closer to marathon 100 and everything started to line up just right for the first time in ages. 

  All fired up (now I believe there comes a time)
  All fired up (when everything just falls in line)
  All fired up (we live an' learn from our mistakes)
  All fired up, fired up, fired up

“Avenging Annie.” Andy Pratt. Who doesn’t love a feisty anti-heroine /marathoner?

“Photograph.” Def Leppard. I just love the music. 

“Shut Up and Dance.” Walk the Moon. Stay focused. “Don’t you dare look back. Just keep your eyes on me” (the finish line/goal).

"The Story," Brandi Carlile. Gratitude, dedication, heart. 

  I climbed across the mountaintops
  Swam all across the ocean blue
  I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules
  But baby, I broke them all for you

 

 

“Wrecking Ball.” Springsteen.  Be your own hero/ wrecking ball. “Hard times come /and hard times go/ just to come again/ Bring on your wrecking ball.” 

“Lonesome Day.” A reminder that it’s not always easy, but staying the course matters. 

 Baby, once I thought I knew
 Everything I needed to know about you
 Your sweet whisper, your tender touch
 But I didn't really know that much
J oke's on me, it's gonna be okay
 If I can just get through this lonesome day

 

“What a Fool Believes.” The Doobie Brothers. You’ve got to be a bit of a fool to keep running for years and years. Be your own fool. Believe. “What a fool believes, he sees/The wise man has the power to reason away/But a fool believes.” 

 

“River Deep Mountain High.“Tina Turner. This song is obviously a love song to marathon running, the best sport ever. 

 And do I love you my oh my
 Yeah, river deep, mountain high
 If I lost you would I cry

“Disco Inferno.” (TinaTurner version). The beat is phenomenal. “Burn, baby, burn/ disco inferno/
Burn, baby, burn/ Burn that mother down.”

 

“Run.” Snow Patrol/Leona Lewis. Reminds me of loved ones, now passed, telling me to keep on keeping on. 

 Light up, light up
 As if you have a choice
 Even if you cannot hear my voice
 I'll be right beside you dear

 Louder, louder
 And we'll run for our lives

 

“Superheroes.” The Script. It’s all true. 

 She's got lions in her heart, a fire in her soul 
 He's a got a beast in his belly that's so hard to control
 'Cause they've taken too much hits, taking blow by blow
 Now light a match, stand back, watch 'em explode

 

 

"You Haven’t Seen the Last of Me." Cher.  Old, slow runner fighting words, this song revs me up. 

 I've been brought down to my knees
 And I've been pushed way past the point of breaking
 But I can take it
 I'll be back
 Back on my feet
 This is far from over
 I am far from over
 You haven't seen the last of me

 

 

“Titanium.” Sia. I’m Titanium, literally. Many years ago, I completed 30 marathons in a total of 30 different states in 365 days, which earned me the rank of Titanium in the Marathon Maniac running club. In fact, as I finished marathon #30, this song was playing on the loudspeaker. “You shoot me down, but I won’t fall. I am Titanium.” Yes. I am. 

“The Greatest.” Positive thoughts to positive words to positive actions. 

 Don't give up, I won't give up
 Don't give up, no no no

 I'm free to be the greatest, I'm alive
 I'm free to be the greatest here tonight, the greatest

 

“Unstoppable.” Talk about a perfect affirmation. 

“Chandelier.” You get one life. Live it. “I’m gonna swing from the chandelier. . . I’m gonna live like tomorrow doesn’t exist.”

“Never Give Up.” Sometimes, things are awful, but you must keep moving forward. 

 And I won't let you get me down
 I'll keep gettin' up when I hit the ground
 Oh, never give up, no, never give up no, no, oh
 I won't let you get me down

“Pink Pony Club.” Chappell Roan. Every word a paeon to following your dreams. 

“Femininomenon.” Be an active participant in your own life: “Did you hear me? Play the fucking beat!”

 

“How Far I’ll Go.” Moana soundtrack. If you can’t stop thinking about it, you need to work on getting it. “The line where the sky meets the sea, it calls me. . . One day I’ll know how far I’ll go.” 

“Go the Distance.” Hercules soundtrack. Trust the process. 

 I am on my way
 I can go the distance
 I don't care how far
 Somehow I'll be strong
 I know every mile
 Will be worth my while

“Bridge Over Troubled Water.” Simon and Garfunkel. This stanza was meant for me, I think. 

 Sail on silvergirl,
 Sail on by.
 Your time has come to shine.
 All your dreams are on their way.

 

“How Bad Do You Want Me.” Lady Gaga. When the finish line taunts you: “A psychotic love theme/ How bad do you want me?”

 

 

“Give Me Everything.” Pit Bull and Co. You only get one life. 

 Give me everything tonight
 For all we know we might not get tomorrow
 Let's do it tonight

 

“Bright Lights Bigger City.” Ceelo Green. Live in the realm of possibility. 

 Yeah I'm lookin' for some action
 And it's out there somewhere
 You can feel the electricity
 All in the evening air. . .

I 'm just gonna let something brand new happen to me

 

 

“Heaven is a Place on Earth.” Belinda Carlisle. The you-only-get-one-life theme continues.  

  In this world we're just beginning
 To understand the miracle of living
 Baby I was afraid before
 But I'm not afraid anymore

 

“Africa.” Toto. I just love this song. Always have. Brings me back to a particular time and place when the possibilities were endless, a reminder to be open to what’s out there. 

 

“Roll Me Away.” Bob Seger. Keep trying. 

 I'm gonna roll me away tonight
 Gotta keep rollin', gotta keep ridin'
 Keep searchin' 'til I find what's right
 And as the sunset faded I spoke to the faintest first starlight
 And I said next time
 Next time
 We'll get it right

 

 

“Like a Rock.” An older runner now, but still plugging away. 

Oh, like a rock, the sun upon my skin
Like a rock, hard against the wind
Like a rock, I see myself again
Like a rock
Oh, like a rock

 

“Faithful.” Go West. Positive self-talk. 

 You can lean on me
 Though we sail on stormy seas
 Nothing good comes easily
 But I, I won't let you down..

 

 

“Kings and Queens.” Ava Max. Be your own hero. 

  No damsel in distress, don't need to save me
  Once I start breathing fire, you can't tame me
  And you might think I'm weak without a sword
  But I'm stronger than I ever was before

 

“The Good Part.” AJR. I really like the music. The good parts are everywhere. 

 

“More Than a Feeling.” Boston. The endorphin high is so much more than a feeling. 

 It's more than a feeling
 (More than a feeling)
 When I hear that old song they used to play
 (More than a feeling)
 I begin dreaming
 (More than a feeling)

 

“Foreplay/ Long Time.” If you really want something but are holding back because of the time it will take, well the time is going to pass anyhow. “Time doesn't wait for me
It keeps on rollin'.”

 

“Don’t Look Back.” You’re not going that way, so what’s the point? “I don't mind/ where I get taken/The road is callin'/today is the day.”

 

 

“Lazy Eye”  Silversun Pickups. This, each race: “I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life.”

 

“Go All the Way.” Raspberries. The whole song. To the finish line. 

“Right Here, Right Now." Jesus Jones. Stay in the moment. 

 Right here, right now, 

 there is no other place I wanna be
 Right here, right now, 

 watching the world wake up from history

 

 

“I Go to Extremes.” Billy Joel. Yes. Running 26.2 miles is extreme. But I know folks who do even more. 

 Call me a joker, call me a fool
 Right at this moment, I'm totally cool
 Clear as a crystal, sharp as a knife
 I feel like I'm in the prime of my life

 

 

“Back in the Highlife Again.” Steve Winwood. It ain’t over until it’s over. 

 But when you're born to run it's so hard to just slow down
 So don't be surprised to see me back in that bright part of town

 I'll be back in the high life again
 All the doors I closed one time will open up again
 I'll be back in the high life again
 All the eyes that watched me once will smile and take me in

 

“No Tears Left to Cry.” Ariana Grande. Tough song, honoring sadness but saying it’s time to live. 

 Right now I’m in a state of mind 

 I want to be in like all the time. 

 Ain’t got no tears left to cry. . .

 I’m lovin’ I’m livin’ I’m picking it up.”

 

“Can’t You Say You Believe in Me.” Boston. A reminder to myself. “Can’t you say you believe in me? You know that where there's a will, there's a way.”

 

“Little Fighter.” White Lion Yes, I know what this song is about. But when I run to it, I’m the little fighter, all 5’1” of me. 

 Rise again, little fighter
 And let the world know the reason why
 Shine again, little fighter
 And don't let 'em end the things you do

 

“Coming Home.” Cinderella. “Home” is the finish line. 

 So are you tough enough for my love 
 Just close your eyes to the heavens above
 I'm comin home, I'm comin home

 

“The Subway.” Chappell Roan. I just love this song: “She’s got a way/ She got away.” Genius. 

“Run.” BTS. Been listening to this song since I met two wonderful young women at the Sydney Marathon race expo who convinced me that I needed to run to it.  The song itself is just okay, IMO. But the memory of meeting so many good folks in Australia, including those young women, and finishing that amazing marathon? It’s a reminder that I can do more than I ever even imagined.