Five

I remember the first time i ever ran 1ok (or as it was then 6.2 miles, back in the days before metric.) It must have been the early 80′s. I was young girl, full of vinegar and a desire to please my parents. To jump into their radar, a tough thing when you are the youngest child in a large family.

My mom, sister and big brother were all running the Sun Run. I brightly declared my intentions to run the race with them and bring my best friend along too. We began our vigorous training regime which included running to the elementary school around the corner and then hanging out for a couple hours and returning home declaring sweat and exhaustion and imminent victory.

Race day came and my buddy and i sprinted out of the starting block. We raced through the park and promptly looked at each other and decided on a quick walk break. “Surely”, we thought, “we must be halfway by now.” Then we saw it. The Mile 1 sign.

I always remember that moment, that feeling that i had bitten off more than i could chew. That there was no way that my body could possibly propel me forward for five more miles.

We walked most of the rest of the way until we saw we were coming around the corner to the finish line. I’m pretty sure we were tied for last place. We looked at each other and broke into a sprint. There was no way that either of us was going to be last. Onlookers laughed and cheered as we raced to the finish like our lives depended on it. In my mind this was the most important battle i had ever fought, this was my race. It was MY idea that we run the damn thing and i was going to win by not losing if it was the last thing i did.

Funnily enough i don’t remember which one of us actually lost/won. But i do think about that day often. I think about it every time i pass a mile marker in a race. In many ways i am still filled with that same feeling of dread every single time i see one.

~half marathon number five this sunday!