Trolley Run

I was never involved in sports in school. It wasn't because I was unathletic, but because my mom was a single parent, and my sister and I didn't have anyone to pick us up from practices.

In seventh grade, one of my friends in gym class told me they thought I was a really good runner and suggested I try out for the cross country team the next year. I was really excited about it and even talked to the coach about joining. But it turned out I had to have extensive surgery that summer to correct my scoliosis, and I was not in any condition to run when fall rolled around. My athletic dreams had died before they'd begun.

Aside from running, I had always enjoyed volleyball and thought I was a fairly decent player. The summer before my freshman year in high school I spent one week at volleyball camp. I thought maybe it was finally my chance to compete. But after a week of drills, weights, and cardio, I thought all of my body parts were going to fall off. I came home everyday and slathered my legs in icy hot and soaked my dead feet. I wasn't used to such vigorous training, something the other girls had already been doing for several years. To no one's surprise, I did not try out for the team.

Who knows why, but my sophomore year I thought it would be a good idea to try out for track and field. I bought new shoes, track spikes, and cool workout clothes. I attended one day of track practice and was again sure that the physical torture they inflicted upon us would be the end of me. It was volleyball camp all over again. My mom and I had an epic fight when I refused to return for day two of practice. She still brings it up to this day.

So when I invited my mom and my step-dad to watch me compete in the Trolley Run, I felt like it was a second chance to show my mom that I could be the athlete I'd always attempted to be, but never succeeded in becoming. She laughed when I told her it was a chance at redemption for my quitting the track team, but I really felt like I had something to prove to her and to myself. I wanted to show her I could do it.

Mom and Kyle dropped me off in Waldo near the starting line around 7:00 am. I chatted with a guy named Jim as we waited for the race to start. It was a beautiful morning with temperatures in the mid to upper 50s. Once the race started, I settled into good pace. My first mile was about 10 minutes, but due to slacking off in my training, it increased about 20 - 30 seconds every mile. About halfway though the race, I spotted a dad and his kids cooking up bacon on a grill and passing it out to the runners. I chuckled, but the thought of eating bacon right then was not appealing.

As I passed the Roasterie in Brookside, I spotted some cheerleaders from a local high school cheering us all on, and it brought a smile to my face. I would find out later that my awesome friend Ashley was shouting and cheering me on from inside the Roasterie where she was working. She was unconcerned that the people inside the store thought she was crazy.

It was about this time I decided I had to take off the t-shirt hoodie I was wearing. This was quite a task to accomplish considering I had to re-pin my racing bib, as well as take off and put back on the armband holding my phone, all without stopping. I only stabbed myself with the pins twice.

Somewhere along mile three I veered off left to collect some high fives from the "official" high five group. I wish I could remember what their sign said, but I can assure you it was clever and made me smile. I really needed their high fives because my energy was starting to wane, and I was so hot. I started getting bad heartburn and regretted the coffee I'd had before the race.

Typically, my rule is that I never stop during an actual race, the only exception being stopping at a water station. I haven't mastered drinking from those little cups of water while running without inhaling it up my nose or spilling it all down my shirt. This was the first race I had to break my rule. In mile four, I stopped twice for about ten seconds and bent over to take several deep breaths. At that point I really didn't care about the rule, I just wanted to finish.

As I ran across the the Main St bridge and turned onto Ward Parkway on the Plaza, I scanned the right side of the course for Mom and Kyle. I finally spotted them just a few hundred yards from the finish line. Mom was taking pictures and smiling, and I got a high five from Kyle. It was the best feeling. I'd finally climbed that athletic mountain, and she was there to see it happen.

My official time was 43:34, for a 10:51 pace, which beats the time I got last year on July 4th for the only other four mile race I have done. This race reminded me that there is nothing wrong with stopping to catch your breath, as long as you keep going. In the grand scheme of my athletic aspirations, I stopped to catch my breath for 13 years, but all that matters is I kept going.

Finish line, Mom, Kyle, and I, race time, Waldo

Crossing the finish line!

Almost there on mile four! Two thumbs up. 

Can you find me? Where's Michelle?

Big 12 5K

In February, I asked my dad and my step-mom to come to my third race of 2014, The Big 12 5K. You see, my dad and step-mom weren't in my life from age nine to eighteen. Because of my parents' less than amicable divorce, they missed a lot of awards ceremonies, dances, plays, parent teacher conferences, and even my high school graduation. I felt like them coming to one of my races would be an opportunity for us to make up for some of those lost moments. Something within me wanted them to see me accomplish something big. I wanted them to see me cross that finish line.

Weather conditions on race morning were idyllic with temperatures in the 50s and the sun was shining bright. I met my friend and race buddy Sarah at her apartment near the Power and Light District and, decked out in our KU and K-State gear, we walked briskly to the Sprint Center against a fairly strong wind. We managed to find my parents in the crowd and took some pictures. It felt really great to have them there, and they too were festively dressed in KU and K-State colors. They wished me luck and Dad and said he'd be waiting on the east side of the finish line and to look for his white boating hat.

I found my friends Laura and Evelyn, and we lined up in the starting shoot. Laura and I agreed to run together, and once we crossed the starting line we fell into a pretty quick pace. I spotted a cute KU fan in front of us and pointed him out to Laura with a wink. "I'm following him!" I said to her. I couldn't hear what she said over my headphones, but she laughed at me and shook her head.

We managed a pace of 9:28 on the first mile down Oak and over to Grand Blvd, which had me worried that I would run out of energy on the last mile. We headed past Crown Center, and I waved at the cars stopped at stoplights as we passed Union Station and headed up West Pershing over the bridge feeling pretty good.

I was breathing pretty hard as we hit mile two, and I was shocked that we'd managed a 9:23 mile. We soared passed Manny's Mexican Restaurant and trekked up Broadway as I thought about the large meal I was going to gorge myself on there after the race. I also thought about harming the person who'd mapped out this race course. They had lulled us into a false sense of security early on only to force us uphill the entire last half of the race.

At the two and a half mile mark, we still had a 9:35 pace, but that all changed quickly as we turned left to run up Wyandotte Street. It was steep and seemed to go on forever. I remember thinking it was the longest hill in all the world. At one point I barely felt like I was moving forward. I looked to my left at Laura, and she was doing her best to keep going. "We can't stop!" I thought to myself. "We must keep going!" I felt like I was going to collapse, but I forced my legs to keep moving. I just had to make it to the corner. I could see ahead of me that once I made it to the next corner, the course turned right and went downhill. People were stopping to walk. I wouldn't be one of them. I finally crested the hill and thanked God for the decrease in elevation. That last half mile was 11:09, but we made it though and didn't stop.

As I turned the last corner on the course, the finish line came into view. Usually at this point in the race I feel a surge of energy and sprint the last few hundred yards across the finish line, but I had no energy left. It was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. As I neared the end, I looked to the right side of the course, searching for my dad's white boating hat. My eyes found him with a big smile on his face, camera in hand taking pictures as I passed by. I couldn't help but smile. I found just enough energy to run ahead of Laura and cross the finish line. She just laughed at me, and we high-fived.

"I don't think I would have kept going on that last hill if I'd been by myself," she said.

"I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have run that fast if I'd been by myself," I replied.

My official time was 30:40.1, and with an overall pace of 9:52, it was a personal best for me. The fact that my parents were there to see it made it that much sweeter.

Originally, I mused that this race taught me that life is a series of downhill and uphill battles, and that you should rest as much as you can in the downhills so you have the energy to power to the top of the next uphill. But writing this just now, I think the lesson is something else entirely. I think the lesson is that we are less likely to give up and more likely to push ourselves harder when we aren't running the race of life by ourselves.

Me, Dad, Janean

Me and Laura

Me and Sarah

Photo credit to Dad. Almost done! 

Kickoff 5K

Sarah and I sat in my car in front of Arrowhead Stadium, staring at the frozen tundra before us. There was snow and ice covering the parking lot, and the windchill was almost below zero.

"We could just go to IHOP and eat pancakes and drink coffee."

"I mean, we could. But we're already here. Let's just do it, and then we'll feel awesome."

" . . . ok . . . "

It was my second race of the year, a year in which I had challenged myself to run one 5K a month, and two 10Ks. Compared to current conditions, the last race I ran in 20 degree temperatures seemed like a Hawaiian vacation. If I thought I was crazy for doing the last race, at this point I was certifiably insane. Sarah and I had gotten to the race super early, and we sat in my car for almost an hour, absorbing as much heat as we could. We waited until the absolute last minute to get out of the car and run over to the starting line. 

Sarah headed to the back, and I went to the very front. I wanted to finish this thing ASAP, and I had told her that she could find me in the car when the race was over, recovering from the hypothermia and frostbite that would surely set in. 

As soon as the race organizers gave us the word, off we all went. I was already annoyed that my Spotify music app wasn't working, meaning I couldn't listen to my normal running playlist that keeps me motivated. I had to go with another internet radio app, Pandora, and I was at the whim of whatever came on the station it was on. It turned out to be my Hillsong United station, a popular worship band from Australia, and the mix of songs that played had to have been divinely influenced. 

On the first mile I wondered if my face would actually freeze solid and fall off. The sun was trying to peek out, and I prayed that it would make an appearance, having mercy on us all. I focused on my breathing, and within a few minutes, my body was warm, and I wasn't so much thinking about the cold. I quickly realized that the worship music that was playing in my ears was so much more encouraging than the playlist I had planned. About a half mile in, I felt God's presence with me very tangibly, and I knew how proud He was of me for choosing to run that race despite all the good reasons I had not to. I started to cry, but I considered the bitter temperatures and decided I didn't want my tears to freeze to my face, so I got ahold of myself.

I passed a tall, athletic looking black guy in mile two. I was holding a steady pace, but he would run past me and then stop to walk. Then he would run past me again and walk again. It was almost like when a car keeps passing you on the highway, only to slow down to where you have to pass them. Then they speed up and pass you again. It drives me nuts (no pun intended). Sadly, there is no cruise control setting on a human being. I wondered if he figured he just couldn't let tiny me run ahead of him. 

In mile three, we passed our original starting point as we completed a full circle around both Arrowhead Stadium and Kauffman Stadium. Cutting across the parking lot we ran between the two looming structures, Kauffman on my left and Arrowhead on my right. I remember thinking it was fitting to be running around a baseball and football stadium where so much athletic talent is on display throughout the year. Chiefs and Royals jokes aside, a part of that athletic spirit was pushing me forward. 

As I rounded the last corner on the other side of the stadiums, I sprinted towards the finish line. All I could think about was pancakes and hot coffee. After a quick finish line selfie, I decided to backtrack and find Sarah. Walking slowly back to the last corner before the finish line, I waited for my friend. When she reached me, we jogged the last few hundred yards to the finish line together, high-fiving as we crossed. It was a much better feeling than waiting for her back at the car. 

My official time was 33:11.7. It's certainly not a record setter, but it is much better than the 00:00.0 I would have gotten if I hadn't run at all. 

Stuffing myself with grits and eggs at Cracker Barrel after the race, I realized that half the battle in life is just getting to the starting line. I felt like a Roman gladiator for what I had accomplished that day, and I would have missed out on that feeling if I'd given in to my mind telling me to quit before I'd even started. Luckily, Sarah had told me to man up, and I had listened. So stop making excuses and get started. And make sure you have a Sarah in your life to keep you from missing a chance to achieve your goals. The grits and coffee taste so much better when you do. 

Looking very determined on the right. 

Hands raised in victory heading for the finish!

My best friend who keeps me going. 

The Battle of the Bean

The wind was blowing very hard as I sat in my car, contemplating whether or not I would put on my scarf, or tough it out. It was January 18, 2014, the morning of my first race of the year, The Battle of the Bean 5K. I had proclaimed to all of my friends and family just a few weeks before that my New Year's resolution was to run one 5K a month in 2014, with at least two 10Ks mixed in. With a race time windchill that morning in the 20s, I was seriously questioning my sanity. "Runners are nuts", I thought to myself.

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.

Crossing the finish line!