I decided to go with both a scarf and gloves, and I walked slowly across the street to the starting line. This was the first race I had run by myself, so there was no one to chat with before things got going. My legs and arms were sore from too much gym time that week, and I wondered if I would be able to run the whole way without injuring myself. I stuck my headphones in and waited for our heat to make it to the front of the race chute.
As I crossed the starting line and began to run, I felt pretty good, and my muscles warmed up fast. My quads were burning a bit, but the discomfort was manageable. Once the field spread out, I picked a blonde girl running slightly ahead of me as my "pace car". She had a turquoise shirt on and would be easy to pick out from the mass of runners. I told myself I would run 10 -15 feet behind her for the duration of the race, and I would not pass her. We would run the race together, even though she didn't know it. This seemed symbolic to me as to how we should live life; together. What is the point of racing ahead of everyone and crossing the finish line alone?
Somewhere between mile one and two, as we were winding through a neighborhood, a little girl, about five years old, and her mother came into view on my left. They had set up a chalk board at the curb that said, "Keep going! Run fast!" and the little girl was high-fiving the runners as they passed. I smiled as I saw them, and choked back a little lump in my throat. There is something heartwarming about a complete stranger cheering you on, and I veered off course a bit to give her a high five.
As we ran along our course, there were police officers and race monitors guiding us in the right direction. There were arrows painted on the streets and orange cones directing our path. In that moment, I couldn't help but wish life were so easy to navigate.
Between mile two and three, I started to feel tired, and as I chugged up a slight hill that felt like Mount Everest, I thought about stopping. I tried to justify stopping by using my sickness the previous weekend as an excuse. I didn't eat much that morning. I hadn't been training as much as I should have been. It would be ok to stop. Maybe I could just stop for 30 seconds; that wouldn't be so bad. I had lost my turquoise-shirted pace car about a block ago, and I should wait for her to catch up.
Regardless of all the good reasons I came up with to stop, I kept going. I decided that I had to forge ahead. I looked behind me and couldn't even see my race buddy anywhere. Did she stop? I reasoned that sometimes in life, there will be people that are doing their best, but hold you back, and sometimes you have to move on without them. I felt a bit like Judas, but she didn't know we were "running together" anyway.
As I got to the end of the street and turned the corner, I realized I had hit mile three, and the finish line was in sight. I couldn't believe I had thought about stopping when I was so close to the end. I hadn't realized how close I was. Spurred on by adrenaline, I sprinted past those ahead of me and let out a whoop as I neared the end. I choked back another lump in my throat as I soared across the finish line, the crowd clapping and whistling as I slowed to a stop. I had finished strong, and I felt great.
My official time was 32:14.2, which was much better than I expected. After collecting my free custard, chocolate, and cocoa, I spotted my turquoise-shirted friend. I knew she'd finish just fine.
Today's race impressed upon me how often we want to quit when we don't realize how close we are to finishing. There is a rather cliche but true fitness saying that goes something like, "Just when you want to quit, push yourself a little bit harder. That's how you grow stronger." Cliche but true, and this runner grew a little bit stronger today.
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| Crossing the finish line! |
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