The Long Run

By Jorja E. Jackson

The practice of law is a marathon, not a race." That's what one of my law professors told me on my first day of law school in 2000.

Seven years later I got the chance to discover firsthand what a marathon was really like, after some coworkers at my firm asked me, "Would you like to run a half marathon?"

Unlike me, they had all previously run long-distance races, and one had even competed in triathlons. This intimidated me a bit, because I had never run more than a mile before. In all honesty, I considered 5 miles a marathon. But I thought, "Why not?" There was no way I could fail, because I wasn't competing to win - I just needed to run 13.1 miles.

Much like when I proudly announced to my friends and family that I was going to become a lawyer, I didn't realize the amount of time and dedication required to accomplish the task. The training was similar to my experience as a first-year associate: sometimes grueling, not fun, but necessary for the ultimate goal - finishing the race.

The toughest part of doing something new is dealing with the fact that you've never done it before, whether it's an oral argument, deposition, mediation, trial, or summary judgment brief. You have no idea where to begin, but after you realize that you have the tools and materials you need to prepare, you're ready to meet the challenge.

So in July 2007 I joined a Nike women's marathon training team and participated in weekly group runs on Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings. Every time I got winded - or "sucked wind," as runners call it - I didn't think of it as a failure but as a challenge for the next run. I considered what I needed to do to increase my endurance and how I could run faster and smarter so I wouldn't get injured or, even worse, begin to hate running.

I didn't want to quit and disappoint myself or my two women friends who were training with me. We called ourselves "Team Pink." By the tenth week of training, I was logging 15 to 20 miles a week. I became increasingly confident that by race time in November I could actually finish the U.S. Half Marathon in San Francisco.

On race day I woke up at 5 a.m., put on my brand new pink running jacket, and loaded my iPod with fresh tunes to help keep me going: "Lose My Breath" by Destiny's Child, Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend," Kelly Clarkson's "Since You've Been Gone," and so on. All of the songs were loud, fast, had strong beats, and made me want to move - and move fast!

At the starting line, I surveyed the people around me. They were of all ages, sizes, shapes, and ethnicities. Certainly not all of them were elite athletes. Some were even attorneys.

When the announcer shouted "Go!" at 7 a.m., I headed out with my friends. We quickly separated, as they were much faster runners, but I didn't let that get me down. I found my zone and kept going. The route was beautiful, starting out along the Marina, going around the Presidio, and then across the Golden Gate Bridge.

When I saw the sign announcing Mile 6, I asked myself, Should I turn back? Nah, I was just getting started, and feeling pretty good. I replayed U2's "Beautiful Day" and headed across the bridge. All of a sudden, I was at Mile 11. I was feeling pretty sore, but I was too close to my goal to quit now.

The last mile was the longest and the toughest. My legs felt rubbery, my ankles were sore and bruised, and I had blisters on my feet, but nothing was going to stop me from completing the race. When I saw the finish line, it seemed to glow with a beautiful glory. And there was Team Pink, cheering me all the way.

By the end, I was very tired and aching. I didn't experience the so-called runners high, but I was elated because I had finished the race - and realized I could do it again.

We all received shiny silver medals, with the Golden Gate Bridge engraved on the front. I decided to hang mine in my office. It's a constant reminder that when I take on those "firsts," which as an associate I constantly do, I can handle any challenging project. And when I do it again, I'll be even better, faster, and smarter than the last time. Who knows, maybe someday I'll even run a full marathon.

Jorja E. Jackson is an associate in the San Francisco office of Littler Mendelson.

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