A running story

So if follow my blog, you’re already aware that in the last five years I’ve become a runner of sorts. I’m not hardcore, but it’s something I enjoy doing. It has become a primary outlet for releasing all my stay-at-mom anxiety. After a good leg-burning, heart pumping run, I honestly feel like I could conquer the world. It’s my therapy. And it allows me the leeway to eat dessert without guilt. Win-win.

And not to mention that nearly all of my favorite people are runners. And not only do my thrice-weekly runs allow me to sweat out my craziness, they also give me some hourish blocks of time with a few of my favorite people. Lots of laughing, gossip and heart-felt conversations occur during running. We talk about every aspect of our lives. Except when we’re trying to get up Cherokee or Lookout. Then you’ve just got to crank the music, put your head down and get strong. God. I love running.

And since become a runner, the ultimate goal-race of mine has been the Asheville half-marathon. I was just building my mileage for the first time when I got pregnant with Taylor is 2007. And since I was in the beginning stages of getting knocked off my rocker by motherhood, I stepped back and cheered on my friends and watched as they tearfully crossed the finish-line. It was bittersweet.

But then I created human life, got a jogging stroller and started running off the baby weight. And I got stronger. And instead of running the half the following September, I ran the adjoining 5k. And I crossed the finish line in 26.44. Which is pretty awesome. But watching all the finishers who just got done running 13.1 miles inspired me beyond words. And my inner-monolog while witnessing all of these people receiving their medals was, I could totally do that. I AM GOING TO DO THAT. I am going to cross that finish line.

So I kept up my training, continuing to run throughout that fall and winter. I competed in my first 10k in March and was well on pace, mileage-wise, to be in prime-shape to compete in the half marathon. But then, dun-dun-dunnn!, I got pregnant again. And while I adore my little Pookie more than words, while he was growing in my belly I was SO SICK. Barely a step above functioning, I was essentially wrapped around my toilet for the months of August and September. Miserable. Totally unable to break a sweat without barfing, let alone run over ten miles. Which was such a bummer, as my best friend and college roommate, Emily, and I had been simultaneously training so she could fly in from Iowa to run with me. Oh, and Chris was running. And so many of my friends and training partners. And I was so, SO PROUD of every one of them when they crossed the finish line that year. But I wanted to be out there so bad.

And then my sweet boy was born that following spring, and instead of sucking it up and starting to run again, I fell into a deep crack of no-sleeping and double-mothering. The last thing I was concerned about was running. It was about survival. So when last September rolled around and Chris and some of my friends ran the grueling 13.1 mile race, I was happy to cheer him on. And I experienced the same heart-wrenching happiness while watching all the runners cross the finish line, and witnessing each of them smile in triumph. Jeez! Seriously! If you’re ever feeling down, go to a local road race and stand near the end. Look at the smiles on the runners faces. It’s amazing.

So I started running a little bit more, and competed in a few 5k races. I was bound and determined to run this year’s half. No excuses. I was sleeping. I was not pregnant. I was doing this. And my runs got longer and longer, and faster and faster, and more and more manageable. It wasn’t easy, but it felt good. And my legs were getting strong again. And I signed up for half marathon.

But. GAH! Gotta love the Buts. Then my left foot started twitching. And then hurting. And then barley able to put weight on. And after a doctor’s visit, I was diagnosed with plantar fasciitis and told I couldn’t run for two weeks. Which doesn’t seem like a long time, but I was right in that crucial training schedule of moving up from six to eight miles. That’s a big jump. And to fall behind was a total bummer.

But I rehabbed it and tried to keep working out those two weeks, but the first run back was AWFUL. Sucked real bad. And so did the next two or three runs after that. And my inner-monolog for those following weeks were, I HATE THIS! Why am I even doing this? This is stupid. Blah, blah, blah.

In fact, while I was sitting on the beach with my lovely tooties at the beginning of August, I watched all the workout-barbies jog past me in my lounge chair and thought about what a drag it was that I wasn’t going to be able to run the elusive half this year. No way could I pull myself together for that. I was so not ready to huff it on the hilliest 13.1 mile course in the Southeast.

However. Coming off a refreshing, kid-free beach vacation was the best possible time to swing my arms, stretch my legs and download a new playlist. And running started to feel good again. Real good. And I knew I was pretty far behind by training buddies, but one weekend, about three weeks before the race, I woke up early and ran the first nine miles of the course. NINE! Ran the whole thing. At an alright pace. And it felt good. So I puffed out my chest and raised my fist in the air and said, THIS YEAR! I will run this race in three weeks. I’m doing it.

And guess who heard me? EVERYONE. Yeah. No backing out now. In fact, a friend of mine relayed my Gonna-run-it-finally story to a reporter for our city paper and I did a phone interview and photo shoot. And when I woke up the morning before the race, there I was in the Citizen-Times, spouting off about how excited I was to compete the next day and how I had wanted to check this race off my list for a long time. Lots of people read it and sent me messages and words of encouragement. I was famous for a minute. And there was absolutely no way I could back out now.

So I was super nervous the morning of the race. I had already set out all of my gear, my number, my gels and my iPod. We all got up at the crack of dawn and Chris and the kids dropped me off at the start and then they continued on to cheer for me at the halfway point. My heart was already racing, and the enormity of what I was about to do sunk in. I was practically vibrating with nervousness and adrenaline when I heard the starting horn blow, and then I pressed play on my iPod and started moving my feet. Here we go.

And while I had never run the course in it’s entirety, I was familiar with it all. Every hill, every downhill and every straightaway. I had mentally earmarked about five climbs on the route, reminding myself to keep breathing and stay strong in anticipation of those awful ascents. My playlist was killer, and I had already coordinated my music with both my pace and the course, so when I turned the corner to start up Cherokee, Cake’s The Distance started blaring in my ears and helped propel me up the switchback. I had a good sweat going, I was passing people, I was feeling good.

And that feeling lasted for a while. In fact, when I got to the top of Inglewood and at the halfway point, I saw Chris and the kids and had a giant smile on my face and kept saying, I’m awesome! This is so fun! Hooray for running!

And after keeping a good pace for the next three miles, I found myself at the bottom of the mile-long ascent called Lookout Road. Yeah. You literally go uphill for a mile. And that’s after you’ve already run ten miles. And let me digress back to my lack-of-training mantra:  Hey, if you can run nine, you can run 13. Right? No. That’s wrong. Because when I turned the corner to start up Lookout my legs literally stopped working. I had never in my entire life run more than ten miles in one stretch. My body didn’t know how to comprehend what was going on, and when my mind yelled down to my feet that we were about to jog up a mountain, my lower half literally screamed back, NOPE! Not gonna happen.

So I slowed down to a fast walk, stretching my legs to such a long stride that even while walking I was passing some people who were running. And I caught my breath, drank some water and tried not to get defeated. It was okay to walk! I only had three more miles until I was done. I WAS ALMOST THERE!

I got to the top of Lookout, and started moving my legs to a run again on a good downhill. And it felt surreal. My limbs were like jello and I was literally soaking wet with sweat. And then I gutted it out for the next two miles, and they were the hardest two miles I’ve ever run in my entire life. But it wasn’t like anyone around me was feeling good at that moment either. I heard lots of swearing, lots of grunting and lot of panting. There was a giant beast of a man plodding behind me, and whenever I started to slow down on the steady hills of Broadway, he’d shout, HEY BLONDIE! Get it! Don’t stop now! We’re almost there! And I’d groan back, UGH! I hate this! I can’t do this! And he was right on my tail, encouraging me to keep moving my feet.

And I did. And when I turned onto the final cruel hill, we were already downtown and literally had three blocks left. THREE BLOCKS! And halfway up Walnut, I was about to fall over when I saw Paige and Delilah. And my best friend looked at me with such admiration and screamed, YOU GOT THIS! You are awesome! And my final surge of energy kicked in and I kept moving.

And for the last blocks, the crowds of people and other runners were cheering so loudly I couldn’t even hear my own breath. There were people lined up on both sides of the street, ringing cowbells and shouting. I saw Chris and Taylor and Luke waving their arms in the air as I took my final steps of the race. And then I did it. I CROSSED THE FINISH LINE.

And then someone looped a medal around my neck and I made my way into the crowd to find my family and friends. 

I finally did it! And when I regained feeling into my body, all the emotions and exhaustion bubbled up into my throat and I could barely speak. And I cried. Tears of relief, tears of accomplishment and tears of joy. I am so proud of myself. And you better believe I wore that medal constantly for the rest of the weekend. Who runs half-marathons? THIS GIRL!