Home

October 11, 2014

This morning, I rolled out of bed questioning my decision to register for another half marathon earlier this year.  I looked out the window and it was cold and rainy.  I decided this race was going to suck.  I hadn’t run more than 6 miles since the last half marathon in June, but I had been consistently working out at my crossfit box and getting stronger.  But not having the confidence of those long training runs under my belt, I was very nervous about showing up at the starting line of this race. 

My pre-race strategy was to stay dry and warm as long as possible which was solved for me because the city began closing roads thirty minutes earlier than indicated and race volunteers kept sending me to different locations down different roads to park until a kind police officer standing in the rain gave me permission to park for free in a no parking zone.   By this time, the start was only a half hour away, I stashed my gear bag in my back seat and decided to just carry my keys in my running belt with my phone. I had a good mile to walk to get to the starting line plus I had to make a stop at the restroom (I learned that lesson the hard way at my first half and then had to wait in a line on the course for 5 minutes)  By 7:45, I had just a half mile jog to the start.  The starting area was chaotic with spectators and runners pushing forward.  I couldn’t see the pacers and was way at the back of the pack of runners.  I knew I needed to be up further so I began to push my way through, one of the advantages of being short.  It was raining and cold, I was grateful to the stranger who handed me a garbage bag to keep dry while I was waiting in line for the bathroom.  I caught sight of a pace sign, not where I wanted to be, so I tried to push forward a little further but the gun went off, the race was starting.  I wasn’t ready.

Race strategy: Run get dry and warm as fast as humanely possible.  I was so frustrated.  It all felt so chaotic. I began to think, “Why do I even run these things anymore? I didn’t train for it.” But just as I began pouting about the race, I noticed I was running, passing by runners, I felt good, I felt strong.  The energy of the runners beside me and in front of me and behind me continued to move me forward.  I could feel my feet lighter under me, by mile 3 I glanced at the pace clock, I was moving faster than I thought I was, this gave me more speed and confidence for the next few miles. 

Somewhere between miles eight and nine, I could feel that rut. “I don’t want to run anymore,” I thought.  I had been thinking of some decisions I have been trying to make about what is best for my children and myself. 

My brother had recently told me, “ You can’t keep running. Just stop and see what happens.”

My body desperately was feeling the need for a stop but I pushed on.  I had to get warm and dry as fast as possible and standing still wasn’t going to get me home. 

Home.  I’ve always thought of home as something I need to find in someone or something else but maybe, home is right within me.  Maybe what I search for is already embedded in the very fabric of my being.  Maybe I can stop running towards something or away from something (the truth is I’ve never really figured out whether I’m running towards or away, probably a little bit of both) I just know I it heals me.  But today as I pushed on through the cold and rain I decided I am going to stop running.  I’m going to stay put, right here in this life I have built from nothing and just like I trust my feet and strength to carry me the last few miles of this race, I’m going to trust my heart to just let me be safe and at peace once I stop running.

The mile 12 marker was in sight, I picked up my pace and knew I could push hard for one mile.  Shortly after passing the 12 mile sign, my left calf muscles gave and my ankle turned in under me. I winced in pain, catching myself from falling, and I continued .  I slowed down and jogged out the pain. I knew had to work through this.  But every time I tried to run faster, those calf muscles would go limp.  I was frustrated because I knew I was very close to making my goal time and a little more push might just get me there, but decided though I might figuratively stop running, I’m not quite ready to hang up my sneakers and now, I just need to finish this race upright.  And I did.  I looked at the race clock. I lost a lot of time that last mile and though grateful for the finish line, I was disappointed in myself, I  missed my goal and likely didn’t do a personal best but I didn’t really earn it today.  I didn’t work hard enough this time.  I collected my medal and bee-lined  the mile back to my car, desperate to get dry and warm.  My body was frozen, I couldn’t feel my fingers, I was feeling beat up, but,  I also  felt excited to have run this race in the cold rain and finished and I wasn’t really sure why.  I started this race alone today and I finished this race alone, no running buddies, no sole sisters running along my side. But I had a whole slew of support from family and friends who’ve encouraged, loved, cared for, and supported me along this journey and all of them were with me out on that course.

When I got home, I checked my chip time, I had run a personal best! My first personal best in two years!  Yes, sometimes what seems miserable is actually simply wonderful and today, I was  exactly where I was supposed to be, doing exactly what I was supposed to do with exactly all the people I was supposed to be with!  

 I was home.

I am home.