Summerfest Rock 'n' Sole 2013
It was my very first race ever. I was surrounded by real runners and walkers of all different skill levels and shapes and sizes. Contrary to all the pictures I saw, there were other fluffy people there, not just I. I was so excited, I actually cried a little. I couldn't believe I was at the starting line of an actual race. I was at the starting line, the woman who had averted sports as much as possible, except for a short stint at softball at which I was no good due to my fear of being pelted in the face by a softball.
The race started, I jogged a bit till we got to the bridge at which point I was definitely rethinking my decision. It was too late to stop then. I had to go on. I plodded on, people passing me, easily and gracefully easing up a hill that to me as a beginner seemed treacherous. I didn't look back for fear that there was no one behind me, but as the time and steps passed, people kept passing me. It was then I knew I was not last.
I got up to the turn around point nearing mile one and turned around. I looked at the people still approaching and my confidence grew. I would not be last, if I kept going. I decided it was time to jog again. My coach told me to do my running downhill and walking uphill if at all possible. This is what I would do. I started jogging down the hill at a leisurely pace, the same pace the people who had passed me earlier were keeping. It wasn't as difficult now. I was passing some of the groups who were walking down the bridge, thinking gratefully about my coach and her great advice, hoping that this would buy me enough time to make up for the slow climb up the bridge.
Once I got down, I alternated jogging and walking the trail for the 5k-ers set for us through the Summerfest grounds wondering how close to mile 2 I was. I kept up with people who seemed to be at a similar pace, passing some here and being passed by others there. I stayed determined and focused. I was going to finish regardless of my time, but I had a feeling I would be able to make it at least under the hour limit allotted.
We 5k-ers got to the point where we met the half and quarter runners. The path narrowed, half muddied from the rain that had poured earlier in the morning. I knew I'd half to speed it up even if only for the sake of courtesy of those who had chosen a longer distance. That was when I saw the sign. 1/4 mile left, it said. One quarter of a mile is 2 and half city blocks. I could run that, I thought to myself. I tried, and almost made it to the end. As I ran, I passed people up like a careless freeway driver, zipping past people zooming right here, left there, trying not to trip anyone or bump into everyone. Then, I came to the corner around the gate and saw my son and husband. I teared up, so proud of my accomplishment and so grateful that they had gotten up with me, got dressed and not only stayed at the starting line to see me off, but meandered over to the finish to watch me cross the line. I got Max's attention, hoping that he might remember this one day and be proud of his mother for pushing past excuses and going for her dream.
This race is only the first of many to come, God willing. I prayed hard the night before that God would make good on His word and that I would be able to do this race through Christ who strengthens me. I knew that my own body would be working overtime and that I needed strength of muscle and mind. Faith got me through this. There was no "I can't," although there were a couple of "Can I really?" moments in there. Next week, I will begin training for my 10k in September. I can't wait!
The race started, I jogged a bit till we got to the bridge at which point I was definitely rethinking my decision. It was too late to stop then. I had to go on. I plodded on, people passing me, easily and gracefully easing up a hill that to me as a beginner seemed treacherous. I didn't look back for fear that there was no one behind me, but as the time and steps passed, people kept passing me. It was then I knew I was not last.
I got up to the turn around point nearing mile one and turned around. I looked at the people still approaching and my confidence grew. I would not be last, if I kept going. I decided it was time to jog again. My coach told me to do my running downhill and walking uphill if at all possible. This is what I would do. I started jogging down the hill at a leisurely pace, the same pace the people who had passed me earlier were keeping. It wasn't as difficult now. I was passing some of the groups who were walking down the bridge, thinking gratefully about my coach and her great advice, hoping that this would buy me enough time to make up for the slow climb up the bridge.
Once I got down, I alternated jogging and walking the trail for the 5k-ers set for us through the Summerfest grounds wondering how close to mile 2 I was. I kept up with people who seemed to be at a similar pace, passing some here and being passed by others there. I stayed determined and focused. I was going to finish regardless of my time, but I had a feeling I would be able to make it at least under the hour limit allotted.
We 5k-ers got to the point where we met the half and quarter runners. The path narrowed, half muddied from the rain that had poured earlier in the morning. I knew I'd half to speed it up even if only for the sake of courtesy of those who had chosen a longer distance. That was when I saw the sign. 1/4 mile left, it said. One quarter of a mile is 2 and half city blocks. I could run that, I thought to myself. I tried, and almost made it to the end. As I ran, I passed people up like a careless freeway driver, zipping past people zooming right here, left there, trying not to trip anyone or bump into everyone. Then, I came to the corner around the gate and saw my son and husband. I teared up, so proud of my accomplishment and so grateful that they had gotten up with me, got dressed and not only stayed at the starting line to see me off, but meandered over to the finish to watch me cross the line. I got Max's attention, hoping that he might remember this one day and be proud of his mother for pushing past excuses and going for her dream.
This race is only the first of many to come, God willing. I prayed hard the night before that God would make good on His word and that I would be able to do this race through Christ who strengthens me. I knew that my own body would be working overtime and that I needed strength of muscle and mind. Faith got me through this. There was no "I can't," although there were a couple of "Can I really?" moments in there. Next week, I will begin training for my 10k in September. I can't wait!
Comments
Post a Comment
Thoughts???