On Being Last

I look back over my life and I see that in some areas, I have a trend. It’s called “If I can’t be the best I don’t want to play.” Some of you may also suffer from this syndrome. I wasn’t good at sports….so I stuck to dance and cheering. I loved them. But the year I blew my knee out and got moved to the back row of the recital, I quit (I feel like such a schmuck admitting that). Student teaching was hard and I figured out I REALLY didn’t want to be a teacher (much love to you teachers, it’s a calling for sure), so I changed my major – in the middle of my senior year of college. I could have stuck with it, should have stuck with it. But it was hard, and I didn’t like it. My mom and dad were good about pushing us to keep our commitments, to learn about doing what you said you would and the importance of it. But I see that when I could get away with it, I stepped away from things that were harder for me. I know this sounds petty – are these things hard? Really? No, in the grand scheme of things, they aren’t. But I’m learning, at 36 years of age, that even on the small stuff I don’t want to be like that anymore.

I started running a month ago, if you want to call it running. It’s really more of a power walk with a bounce in it. Let me lay the stage for you :

I HATE RUNNING.

 I have hated it since Jr. High when (big surprise!) I was dead last in every race…and I quit. But I’m part of a mom’s group and they make this running group sounds so good. They look good, they feel good, they have so much fun, they have coffee after early morning runs. It seems beautiful, and serene, and inspiring. There are beautiful sunrise pictures. So I got conned into a 5K.

 

They roped me in because they serve champagne after the race. Nobody told me there was actual running.

Here’s how I thought this running thing would go down. It would be hard for a week or two, probably really hard, but I would persevere. I would discover my inner runner and finally, after all these years, I would get what all the crazy runner people are going on, and on, and on, and on (y’all know you do) about. I would lead the pack, lose 40 lbs, and become a natural runner that loves to get up on Saturday mornings and greet the sun. We are one month in to run training. I missed a whole week because my shins tried to tell me this was a bad idea by pulling away from my bones. So I bought new shoes and compression socks (those socks and I have a history, anyone else get to wear them while prego?). It became less painful on the shins, but now I’m a week behind. I’m on 2 minute intervals and everyone else is on 3. This is becoming not as much fun. I seriously CANNOT STAND to be behind. So I skipped 3 minute training and jumped to 4 minute tonight on our group run. Oh, and added another interval. No big. I’m going to rock it , right? Except not.

Two intervals in I've decided that I will die soon. I can’t breathe, my back hurts, there’s a whole lotta shaking going on, and I am counting the seconds until my walking interval. Some people say they zone out and forget about running while it’s actually happening. I don’t know what they smoke before but I want some. I am counting every second of this agony until I can stop. Sometimes even the half seconds. About halfway through I realize I can’t do this. I’m going to pass out, or vomit, or maybe pee my pants (I’ve had two kids you know, these things happen). I start to run 3 minutes (bouncy power walking – not breaking any land speed records), power walk a minute, and walk a minute. I mean, I can walk just about as fast as I can run, so what's the difference? And then I realize – I am dead last. Visions of 8^th grade track and being the slowest one out there are spinning through my head.  I’m thinking, “What the hell am I trying to prove? I hate this. I’m going to quit.” A tiny little voice in my head said, “Pray about it”. In a fit of irritation, because I didn't want to ask for help, I wanted to quit - I asked for help. If God was there with me and if he cared about this running thing, to give me wings. Renew my strength or something. And you know what? He so didn’t.

Instead my instructor Maria notices me flagging (she has a sixth sense about people about to quit – it drives her mad) and she drops back. I may have f-bombed her and pleaded with her to run ahead of me. Because I knew, if she ran with me, she wouldn’t let me quit, and my pride wouldn’t let me quit. And I really, really, really wanted to quit. I mean, we're talking "back row of the recital" want to quit. Instead she talked my head off trying to distract me and we walked/ran the last intervals together. She prompted me “run to that tree” and I would do it, and say, “we can walk now?” and she would say, “no, run to the next one.” She’s mean like that. J

And as we finally finished… I was still dead last. I was still fighting back tears and considering vomiting. I felt slow, stupid, and like it was a waste of time for me to even try this. I mean - I was last - did I mention that? People walk faster than I run. I was last, and I still felt like vomiting because it was so hard. I’m not good at this. I’m not anywhere close to the front of the pack and I don’t think I ever will be. My inner runner is silent, perhaps because she does not exist. My natural inclination is that I’m not going to excel, so I don’t want to play. I stretched and came home, and couldn’t sleep because my calves were on fire. So I started thinking, and I made a decision.

I’m not going to quit.

I have a few reasons why but these are the biggies.

1.       I need a good, fat dose of humble pie. Does the world care if I can run fast? Do I really think all the other moms felt sorry for me? Yeah, actually, for a minute I did. And then I mentally punched my self-centered ass. I run with the most amazing group of women. They cheered because they’re proud of me. They know it’s hard for me, but I didn’t quit. I ran 3 miles. Yes, I was at a 12:43 per mile, but that’s the first time since 8^th grade I’ve run 3 miles. Maybe the first time ever. I cheered for them and I meant it. I would never feel anything but pride for someone else who kept trying. I made a commitment to them and to myself to run this race. It may be the only race I ever run, or I may learn to tolerate it (notice I didn’t say “love”), but I will finish this one with these women because we support each other.

Lighting it up blue for World Autism Awareness Day to support our mommy friends

2.       If this is what I do when it’s hard to do something as simple as running, I need to take a good hard look in the mirror. Am I so juvenile that I’m going to take my toys and go home until my friends are ready to play a game I like? (Yes, I kind of am, but I’m working through this). This is nothing. This is easy. Life throws some ugly curve balls. I see people every day and I think I could never do what they do. Humans are amazing. The amount of crap we can put up with and keep smiling is simply a miracle. I have only this one body. And if I quit the minute something is hard, or I feel discomfort, then I’m not the woman I thought I was. I want to look at running as a metaphor for all the hard things in life. It’s not supposed to be easy, you’re just supposed to put one foot in front of the other, and eventually, you cross the finish line.

 

 

3.       My kids are watching, especially my 4 year old. Every Tuesday when I get home from running group he wants to drink out of the run belt water bottles. He says they have “running power”. He tells me goodbye at least a 100 times and to have fun and that he will miss me. He cheers for me when I run. He knows I love to go to “exercise with the mommies”. If I quit, he will watch that too. Even if I am dead last in the race, he will see me running across the finish line and know that Mommy did something that was hard for her.

 

"Magic water with super running power"

4.       God answered my prayer. I asked for strength (I was hoping for an angel to push me from behind or something, is that too much to ask?). He didn’t give me strength, he gave me a friend. A coach to push me. I choose to believe it was a gentle, “Don’t quit, and here’s someone you might cuss at right now but she will help you.” (sorry for the f-bomb MariaJ) He’s listening, and he cares, and my friends care, and that’s enough reason to go past as many trees as I need to. Clearly, I have some things to learn, and perhaps running can teach them to me.

"Even youths grow tired and weary,
    and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
    they will run and not grow weary,
    they will walk and not be faint."

Isaiah 40:30-31



 

I am stronger than I know. This has become, in the last hour anyway, about more than running. I have to believe I can do hard things, things I don’t necessarily enjoy. I have to believe I can show my kids I can do them, so they believe they can do them. I have to show them, and myself, that we keep our promises and finish the race, whatever form that may take. I have to get out of my comfort zone. I have to accept that I will not always be the best; that in fact I might be last, but I can always be a finisher.

12:43 a mile. Owning it. Let’s do this, feet.