Territory Unknown - Running for my life

My son, Carson had a class trip to a friendly, yet competitive event with Run For Life against other schools in the Cambridge area. I was excited I was able to make it, albeit in yoga pants and running shoes, oddly enough I fit in. I pinned on a runner's number on as many students with my son's class as I could, feeling envious of what? Who knows? Being the kind of parent I am, I have no qualms about making a fool out of myself to better the needs of my children. I promised my son if he ran the first two laps of Dickson park, I would run the last with him. Parents and teachers are encouraged to participate any way they can, which is awesome! I jogged along side my son, for once, not caring what anyone thought of my jiggling back side. I patted my sons butt on the straight away, knowing that at some point I have to let him go. Holding back the tears, cheering and whistling as loud as I could, I watched as my eldest child hustled off ahead of me, trying his best to finish his race - which is all I ever ask of my kids. My son was not first place in that race, but he overcame his fear of not winning first place. In that moment I realized perhaps I have not been practicing my own ways of life. I wanted to show him, I wasn't afraid of trying as well. I ran in the last race of the day with teachers and other parents. One lap around Dickson park. Quickly after the race started, I realized my choice of bras that day did not reflect my activity! Also, losing 40 pounds recently, my XL yoga pants began falling....and falling. My concentration was shot. I looked ahead, and back and saw that I was in the middle. Not bad! My inner voice pushed on, and I finished. There were no high fives for me, and although I was initially peeved that no one knew what I had just accomplished, in that same thought, I didn't really care. I didn't lose weight for anyone but myself, and if my son didn't see me run, I could tell him I tried my best. I felt great. I felt accomplished. I felt I needed to shop for a new bra, STAT! A few days later, my friend Mike simply asked me if I was entering into the Classic Mile race at GCI's clay track. UMMMMM...I'm not a runner. *My inner chubby girl quickly asks WTF are you thinking?* I decide to properly time myself on a clay track (Glenview High School). I brought my children with me, which was a mistake. I ended up losing my concentration and encouraging them to run along side of me. My time was under 10 minutes for that mile. Not good. I pulled my groin pretty bad, and of course didn't need any more reasons to cop out. I timed myself (sans children) on Monsignor Doyle's recycled tire track (not sure of the proper name for it...as "I'm not a runner"). I ran with a friend (a runner) and she was half a lap ahead of me at the finish line. Really? I timed myself at 9:11. An improvement. After discussing with Mike about not concentrating on my times or places, "just come out and run". I realized he was right. It is after all, what I tell my own kids. How are they ever to believe me if I don't do it myself? I spend the next 3 days allowing my groin to repair itself, and mentally getting over this hurtle that the chubby girl inside of me kept building. I know I can physically do it, but in front of so many other runners? This is the apitome of personal stress. Arriving with my supportive husband, and children that just wanted to go to Dairy Queen, I am met with a scattered group of stretchers, joggers, runners, announcers, perfect bums, great flashy shoes, drums pounding and then there's me. I feel like I'm sticking out like a sore thumb. A sign above my head that states "CHUBBY GIRL THINKS SHE CAN RUN". I'm flashing back to movies I've seen where clowns are laughing and faces zoom in pointing, mocking me. I go to registration and get my number. My number. I get to wear a number. Numbers are for people whom are committed to their body, whom know technique, and know their competitors. Pinning it on without even running felt like a hurtle. The frog in my throat made me want to hurl.

I meet up with friends whom too, have come to challenge themselves like me, which actually made me feel better. I'm not as alone as I thought I was. Time stood still for about an hour before the race, which allowed me time to warm up. Stretching, breathing, watching people racing around this clay track. My thoughts immediately go to how falling face first would really be great (enter sarcasm).

Photo Credit to K Jacobson. My group of runners are asked to come to the start line. Gulp. The thought had never crossed my mind if I'm supposed to just start, or lunge start, or whatever. I'm pretending to know what I'm doing, and not pee in my pants. I hear the gun fire. Immediately I say to myself "SHIT, this is really happening". After the first turn, I see the others in my group ahead of me. "That's ok" I say, "...they wont have to look at my bum jiggle". Which then lead me to my next thought: "I'm really glad I bought runners shorts to go over my 3/4 length yoga pants, and boy, this sports bra is great!" *shakes head* "FOCUS!". I come around to my family, and a friend, cheering for me to keep going and hang in there. "Oh yeah, I haven't even finished a lap yet". My husband is taking many pictures, knowing I requested to make sure he snapped shots on my up jog. Members of the crowd are yelling "GO 86!" I think, "Oh yeah, that's me! Keep going! They are watching you!" Second lap I have a good momentum, steady and sustainable. I'm just concentrating on my breathing. Reminds me of being in labor, anyways. Third lap, and I can hear them....my group. I'm suddenly realizing I could be responsible for tripping them. I have this lovely way of waving my feet out while I jog, which is fairly attractive (enter sarcasm). I concentrate on coming out of the track a bit to give the leaders the inside. I hope this is the right thing to do! They've all finished the race, and I still have one more lap to go. I chug on. As I come around the 4th and last lap, I notice a rather large group of elite runners on the track. They don't know I'm coming. My initial self (and my apologies for thinking this) was "HEY! How RUDE! GET OFF THE TRACK!". Then again, I'd never be 3/4 of the way on a track during their race. That's just me. I'm almost at the finish line. I feel the burn, but I let go. It's ok that I push hard now, and I did.

I finished, crossing the second white line at 8:42.23 seconds I see Mike with open arms, who encouraged me and believed I could do it.

My husband was there, so proud of me, and my kids all welcoming me. I'll finish by saying how afterwards, my husband told me that my son was very concerned that I was not first. He knew I was not going to win, and didn't want me to be hurt. My husband told him that I already won the race. "How?" my son asked. She won because it's a race against herself, and she tried really hard. I suppose that's all I really want out of life. For not only my loved ones to know that I try really hard, but also for me to know as well.