The Finish Line

Running is not something that I grew up doing.  I didn't live on the track in high school and I wasn't the member of any cross country teams.  I did play sports, so I did a lot of sprints and suicides at practices and game-time running which may have been why I shied away from actually hitting the street to run just for fun very often. 

Then I had my 2nd son in 2007.  I was walking consistently but for the first time, it just didn't seem to be cutting it for me.  I yearned for more sweat.  More good, old-fashioned heart-pumping cardio.  And so, when my 2nd child was about 5 months old, I decided to go for a run for the first time in 4 years.  I ran probably 3/4 of a mile.  I got to my driveway and felt so alive and energized.  The next night, I did it again.  By the second week, I was up to a mile.  I decided on a whim to sign up for a local 10K that was like a rite of passage in our city.  It was 3 months away.  6 miles seemed like an unattainable goal at the time, but I decided to give it my best and go for it.  I printed off a training schedule and completed every single last run on it regardless of weather or stroller companions.  I did all of my homework.  And then test day came.  I felt nervous but ready.  Scared but excited.  The gun sounded and the next 6.2 miles were hard but I ran across the finish line with a smile on my face and the satisfaction that comes only with preparing and working for something and then attaining it.  Something changed that day of my first race.  Suddenly, I cared about how fast I was running those miles and started wondering how far I could go.  I fell in love with running. 

This is why this past Saturday was such an exciting day for me.  My first race after this last pregnancy. 

As I entered the sports store on Friday, I could hear the sound of race instructions, the crinkle of fresh bibs changing hands and echoes of "good lucks" in the air.  My excitement grew.

Saturday morning, I woke up to the sound of my little human alarm clocks.  I jumped out of bed like the girl I used to be on the first day of school.  I popped some ibuprofen to try to alleviate the calf pain I'd been having, ate a banana and loaded everyone into the car. 

At the race, music was already playing, port-a-john lines were forming and runners were stretching.  A voice over the loudspeaker told us to head to the start line. 

The hubs and I pushed our way to the front of the start line and I turned my watch on.  The gun sounded and we were off.  The pace was subdued at first.  This was a hilly course and I was concerned about overdoing the first stretch.  As we made it up the first hill, I felt better.  It wasn't so bad.  I guess all those hills in my neighborhood were doing me some service after all.  We picked up the pace a little.  Halfway through, our biggest fans - 4 little boys (with grandparents of course) - were waiting to give us high 5's.  On a burst of adrenaline from those little voices cheering us to "go, go, go!", we pushed forward a little harder.  After the next hill, I started to really feel the burn.  The hubs picked out a girl 50 yards ahead of us and said   "Her.  Bib 91. We're catching her."  I no longer had the ability to answer him but if I did, it would not have included any form of agreement.  He picked up the pace.  I tried but lagged about 10 seconds behind him for the remainder of the race.  We finally turned up the 2nd to last hill and I literally thought I would be sick.  I focused on my partner in front of me, closed my eyes and kept pushing.  Blue mats have never looked so good.  I got across the finish line and pushed "stop" on my watch.  I blinked a couple of times in disbelief at the time.  It was no PR, but it was significantly faster than I'd been running around the 'hood over the last 4 weeks.  It certainly explained the nausea I felt at the end. 

I made it to the hubs and we gave each other a congratulatory hug.  We talked to other racers that had been near us - some finishing ahead and some finishing behind us.  We talked to Bib 91 and congratulated her on 1st place in our age group.  We ate a little post-race snack and headed back to find our family.

The reason I love running and racing so much is two-fold.  First, it's for the camaraderie between runners.  You start the race strangers and you go home never knowing any names, but for the time in between - the actual race - these strangers can provide inspiration, encouraging words and healthy competition.  It's an amazing situation that does not happen too often in life.

I also love this new found sport because it lets me be the younger version of myself.  I can set a goal, work hard and accomplish it by running over that finish line. 

There could not be a more rewarding challenge than motherhood but there could also not be a longer race.  There are water breaks where you can check your progress but knowing how much I still rely on MY mom, there is definitely not a finish line.  And  the bottom line?  It's nice to mix in some finish lines.   .