Crossing the Finish Line

Training.


I had never officially trained for anything in all my 36 years. In the past, I had been able to complete most tasks without check-ins and schedules. Then, on the brink of summer, I declared I was going to be a runner. I knew I could not do it on my own, so I joined a training group led by my friends.


Much like the four times I anticipated childbirth, the preparation for my very first 5K race was wrought with pure uncertainty. The training session carried on for eight weeks...two-thirds of our summer. The procrastinator and denier in me refused to calculate how many miles were actually in five kilometers until our third week running.


5K = 3.1 miles


Wow!


Now you know, too.


For experienced runners, training for a 5K race may seem so minute. Experienced runners breeze through 5K every time they step out their front door for a morning work-out. For a newbie runner like myself, my journey was anything but breezy. During every single run, my brain and body battled through so much.


Nerves.


Fear.


Breathlessness.


Pain.


Tears.


Doubt.


Exhilaration.


Relief.


Anticipation.


I was the most beginner of beginners, and I was often the slowest runner. Even after eight weeks, the longest I had run was 20 minutes. Leading up to the race, which was the culmination of our training, I still remained unsure how I would manage. I hoped that the adrenaline and excitement of the crowds would keep me moving, even if my legs and lungs would try to quit. New friendships were formed and old ones had been strengthened, so I leaned on them as well.


Then, there's the whole reason why I began to run at all. There is my family. My four kids watch me walk out the door in my neon shoes and know their mom is a runner. The confidence and pride that have blossomed in the past two months are life-changing. I'm modeling behavior that will have positive effects on my children. Some have even started to run with me. They often leave me in the dust, but seeing me sweat and work and fight through my running sets an example for determination and perseverance.


Every runner has to start somewhere. Every runner has a first race. I captured many of the moments of my first race in my mind as I pounded through those 3.1 miles, but the moment I hope stays with me forever is when I passed my family on the side of the course. Their dad boosted them off their lawn chairs when he saw me coming around the corner, so all four of them jumped up and clapped for me, cheering, hollering and yelling.


They shouted, "Go, Mom!! You can do it! Come on, Mom, you're doing great!"


My kids. Little kids, whom I have been watching and supporting from the sidelines for years and years, were there to cheer for me. It was surreal.


I passed them with a smile and a fist pump in the air and kept on running. As the course wound through more neighborhood streets, I began to grow weary. Tired. Nervous if I could keep going. As I followed my way back out of the street, I knew that I could keep going because I would see my family again. Those three silly boys and my motivational daughter were waiting, once again, for me to emerge from the path.


Aaaannnnd...that's when I lost it!


My official cheerleaders were relentless in their encouragement, as tears of elation streamed down my already red and sweaty cheeks. Mark worried for a second I was hurt, but shouldn't he know better by now that I cry at everything? I waved again, soaked up their love, and kept on running to the end.


So, maybe all of this crazy talk I'm spewing would discourage anyone who's reading from ever wanting to take up running. I hope that it's the absolute opposite.


Please take a look at my face as I crossed the finish line. See the pure joy in my eyes?

Did I just say pure joy from running?


I did, and I meant it.


After our race, we were enjoying fresh blueberries around a picnic table, and my dear friend and coach, Renee, said these words to my children:


"Do you see your mom? Look at what she did and how strong she is!"


Moms are strong. We should want to show our children what our bodies and minds can do when we try. They will learn from us to be confident in themselves, too. Three hours ago, I met a woman new to our group who was running for the very first time...ever. A delicate place in my heart pounced with excitement, as I insisted that she CAN and WILL be a runner.

What will you be? Please take it from me, you can do it.

 

 

My friend, Rachel, snapped these photos of me reaching my goal and heading toward Mark and the kids for the final time. I'll be running another 5K in September. The kids want to do it with me. Mission accomplished!

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