If You See Me Collapse, Pause My Watch.

I am a runner.  I love running.  I love to set a goal, whether it be a distance, pace, or time, and meeting that goal. 

But, I haven’t always been a runner.  In high school, I was a cheerleader, and our coach made us run a few laps around the gym at one practice.  I hated it.  It was hard, I didn’t know how to breathe (I know, really?).  I was one skinny, out of shape mess. 

Fast forward six years.  It was six weeks before I was to marry Zach.  My family and I were on a family vacation on a cruise ship.  Since it was just a little over a month before I said “I do” I thought I should probably hit the gym, especially since I had the chocolate molten cake every night at dinner. 

Yessss!   

I've already told you about the girl who inspired me, but let me remind you. When I was in the gym, I noticed this girl running on a treadmill.  She was older than me, probably late twenties.  She had a towel and a water bottle.  As I was pumping some 3 pound iron, I noticed her again, still running.  Then, as I was doing my 873^rd crunch (well, maybe my 10^th), she was continuing her run.  Finally, I was done with my hour long workout, and she caught my eye again.  She was still running.  I sat back at the water fountain, towel in hand, and observed her.  This woman was steadily pacing herself on the treadmill, breathing in a pattern that matched the beat of her pounding feet.  She looked so content, as if her mind were in a place of satisfaction and ease – not at all the way I remembered running from high school.  I decided in that moment, I wanted to be a runner.  Soon, she began turning around looking at me.  I began to wonder what I was doing that would be so awesome that I would catch her attention.  Then, it hit me.  I was staring at her.  So, I quickly left, and thankfully did not run into her again.  I didn’t want her to be worried I was stalking her.

After our family getaway, we came home.  I married my amazing husband that September, and we started our life together.  But, I still thought about this young woman and my decision to become a runner.  By October, I got my training schedule in order.  I somehow convinced my husband and dad to do a 5K with me that March.  So, months of training began.

My first 5K

I would go to the gym in the mornings before I had go to work.  I began to have a love/hate relationship with the sport.  I remember the first time I ran for thirty minutes straight.  I was so excited!  I could not wait to call Zach and tell him the exciting news!  He, of course, was proud (or at least acted like it…he could run a 5K in his sleep).  This was a major feat for me! 

I ran for several more months, and then found we were expecting our first baby!  As soon as I found out, I immediately quit running.  I was one of those crazy, have-to-do-everything-by-the-book mothers.  Our sweet girl was born, and we couldn’t have been happier! 

After she was born during breakfast, our usual Saturday morning cartoon, The Emperor’s New Groove, wasn’t on tv due to a major marathon/half marathon airing on the nearby news station.  We watched as the first woman crossed the finish line.  It was her first marathon, and she won.  As I was listening to her talk about the run, I decided I was going to run the half marathon next year, which sounded like an amazing achievement, especially as I held my newborn and considered the fact that I got out of breath walking to the freezer for ice cream. 

We didn't have cable...

I slowly built my endurance and began running again.  Oh, how I missed my frienemy!  I began running again, and so did my dad.  Months pass by and I actually spent the $100 and signed up for the half marathon.  13.1 miles of pure torture!  I had several friends who were doing the half as well, so we paid for a hotel room. 

Then, I got a very unexpected surprise.  My son. My sweet boy interrupted my running plans, but I am oh so thankful he did because he is the best surprise ever!  I could not get my $100 back from the race, and I definitely could not complete 13.1 miles with a growing baby in my belly.  I could, however, get the t-shirt.  Really?  Do I need or want a $100 t-shirt?  Thankfully, my dad took my place in the half (even though that's kinda against the rules...shh).  But, to register for the run, you had to show your ID, so I had to register.  I made the trip with my friends.  They were so excited.  There was an expo with lots of running information and gear.  My friends bought cool gear, but as we were walking through the expo, my eyes were fighting back tears.  Like big tears.  Like, I wanted to sit in the floor with my pregnant belly and squall like a baby.  Guess what else?  I stayed in the hotel with them.  Yep, I got to watch them put their bib (the number across their chest) strategically on their shirts and make sure everything was in order, iPods charged and all.  Oh, the next morning, I got to ride with them to the drop off to meet my mom and dad.  I got to watch them ride off in the shuttle to the start line. 

Meeting daddy before the race.

My mom was a great sport.  She and I had to wait about three hours until the race was finished.  We ate breakfast, walked around, and just talked.  Then, runners began coming.  Remember the girl on the treadmill?  How she looked so content?  Well, these runners were much more than content.  After 13.1 miles they were overjoyed.  I mean, of course anyone would be excited that it was over.  It was more than that.  They were ecstatic that they met their goal.  My goal.  As I watched the excited runners get their finishers medal, I lost it and did the “sit in the floor with my pregnant belly and squall like a baby” cry, except I was standing.  No one noticed me in the crowd of thousands.  Not even my mom, but not because she didn’t care.  We were separated to try to find my dad.  Again, I got to watch as my dad and my friends crossed the finish line. 

With my son, I ran until I was 22 weeks pregnant.  I don’t regret it.  I wasn’t quite as much by-the-book this time around.  Nonetheless, he was born and I had an 18 month old daughter.  After a few months, I went back to work.  Okay, this may be hard to fully understand as a high school or college student, but I had two children, a full time job, a husband who was studying every night for a test to give him a higher license at his job, and I decided to train for a half marathon.  This equals very busy schedule and one tired mama!

22 weeks pregnant

Let’s skip the training, which made me fall in love with running all over again, even though I ignorantly trained with no strength training – so my body was not gaining strength to support my legs, hips, and knees.  Let’s go straight to the day of the half.  I woke up early that morning, my belly in a huge ball of nerves.  I don’t know about you, but when I’m nervous, I can’t eat.  What does food give you? Energy.  I forced down a little bit of food.  My friend told me not to drink any water before because it causes cramps.  What does water give you?  Hydration. 

So without much food or water, we show up.  My dad and I arrive at the drop off.  I see the shuttle buses.  In my mind, I am thinking, “I get to ride those shuttles!” kind of like riding a school bus for your very first field trip.  We make it to the start line, with the other 35,000 runners.  Gotta use the potty?  Wait in line for a really long time or go behind a dumpster.  We chose the latter, one of us stood guard while the other did their business. 

Time to start.  “Oh my goodness!  I’ve waited so long for this!” My mind wouldn’t shut off of how proud I was to be there.  My eyes kept tearing up, but not like the year before.  Pop! The start gun went off.

Off we go!  Up a hill! “Shew, make it to the top.  Then, we go downhill.”  Ummm. no.  Downhills did not seem to exist in this race.  Another hill.  Another hill.  Oh, my, legs!  In my training, I ran twelve miles without stopping for water.  On this run, I had stopped for water twice, got an orange, and then refueled with Gatorade.  Wow, nothing was helping.  Did I mention it was eighty degrees?

I made it to mile ten.  One minute I was running.  The next, I am sitting on the side of the road with my hands holding onto a fence, crying, begging my dad to explain to me what happened.  At the time, he thought I tripped over a railroad track.

While I was sitting there, a runner brought me salt.  Another runner gave me his water bottle, which I was too disoriented to drink.  My dad had to squirt it in my mouth.  Soon, a policeman came to offer assistance.  I wanted nothing to do with him.  I wanted to finish this race. I kept asking daddy what our time was. We had to get going and finish! Finish! Meet my goal. Did someone pause my watch? I have a goal!!! Finally, they talked me into going to a medic.  I was not happy.

I was awful.  I told the cop that my kids were cuter than his (what?  I had never even met him, nor his kids, whom I’m sure are just adorable).  I told the medic to hurry up.  He had two minutes, and I was leaving.  Well, that made him mad, and he sent me on my way.  Please know, I would never say these things in a normal setting.  This is what happens when you get overheated, dehydrated, and exhausted. 

As we are walking, yes walking, I couldn’t run, I tell my dad I have to sit.  Then, more crazy talk.  I tell him that I should have worn a different shirt, but I didn’t because I would look fat, but if that girl could wear just her sports bra, I was going to wear one next year.  What?  More and more crazy talk.  I continued the crazy talk for a while.  Then came the tears.  I did the “sit in the floor with my pregnant belly and squall like a baby” cry, except I was walking again, and I didn’t have the pregnant belly. 

You know, the last three miles were flat.  I ran uphill for ten miles, then walked on the flat road for 3.  Man. 

As we were walking, I told my dad I didn’t remember falling or how I go to sit down by the fence.  With our totally unprofessional medical license, we determined I passed out.  Maybe heat exhaustion?  Maybe dehydration?  Maybe lack of food?  Who knows.  Probably all three. 

Finally, the finish line.  I crossed, crying.  But not the overjoyed tears I anticipated.  Tears of sadness, let down, hurt.  We were the only depressed people to finish.  Well, the only ones I knew of. 

If you could only see the swollen eyes under the glasses!!

I accepted my finisher’s medal, but I didn’t feel that I deserved it.  I passed out.  I didn’t trip over anything.  I passed out.  I wasn’t tough enough to do the 13.1 miles, why should I get a reward? 

I found my husband and cried and cried.  I became depressed about running.  Why was my heart in it, but my body wasn’t?  Every time I got into running, something set me back, and I had to start all over again.  This time was no different.  I injured my knee during the half, and had to go through months of physical therapy.  And start over.  Again.

Have you ever noticed the 13.1 stickers on cars?  I couldn’t wait to get mine, but as with the medal, I didn’t feel as I deserved it.  So, I skipped over the purchase.  I saw my friends’ pink and white polka dot stickers on their cars as a reminder of watching them cross the finish line without me and as a remembrance of my failure. 

Months later, after the physical therapy, I started back into running.  Slowly but surely I got back in it.  Loving it, again.  But this time, I was smarter. Smarter with my body, and smarter with my attitude.  And smarter with who gets the glory, who the strength to log the miles is actually coming from. I've since ran several more half marathons. My last half was my favorite, because my only goal was to have fun!! 

I have embraced my inner dorkiness! 

I know it sounds silly, but running teaches you a lot about mental strength. I don't run as much as I used to, and I'm not doing the half in the spring. If I ever see that girl that was on the treadmill again, I'm going to have to thank her for inspiring me and hope she doesn't think I'm crazy. 

Love it

 

I'm blessed with active friends and family!

Will run for ice cream sandwiches!