Today Was Race Day

So… today was race day. A big race day. A half marathon race day with 7,300+ other runners and several thousand spectators throughout the route. There were more people in this race than there are residents in the town I live in. And yes… we were packed into a several block radius behind the starting line, corralled within cattle gates on both sides of the street for the entire length of the start. And yes, I am one who gets quite claustrophobic in large crowds. ~insert smiley emoji… and the gnashing of teeth emoji. lol.

This was actually my sixth half marathon, my second time running this particular one. I do a mix of virtual races, where it’s just me, and a few larger on location races when I’m able to. The breadth of the size of this race is quite unbelievable to me. The amount of work, and volunteers, and time, and money that has to go into an event like this leaves me basically speechless.

I have been training hard all summer for this race. I have put in the miles, and the distances, and checked off all the boxes, with all the numbers, on all the dates. I knew technically I was ready, I was prepared, at least according to paper I was. I however was still nervous and still wary of how it was going to go, how I was going to finish, and I still carried that fear within that I wouldn’t even be able to finish at all.

I’m not sure if every runner is this way, or if it’s just an odd mix of my personality, my perfectionism, my lack of contentment and self confidence, or the way my mind is wired to continually over think and over process absolutely everything, usually at warp speed. But the reality within my mind is that I will carry a fear and anxiety of every possible scenario that might go wrong, or might go slightly wrong, or might just go a little bit wrong, and it leaves me in this annoying and odd state of always being a little anxious, a little edgy, a little cautious, a little hesitant, a little wary, a little skeptical, a little too logical, and always a lot too hard on myself.

I have been running at a more serious running level for not quite two years now. I have been running on a very low capacity, low mileage level, off and on, for probably about twenty years. I don’t actually consider myself a runner. I hashtag most of my social media posts as #runningnonrunner. Yes - I know, I know… if you are moving at a pace faster than a walk, you technically are “a runner”… but within my mind, within my personal definition, I am not a runner. I am a non-athlete who has decided to try really hard, who decided to put in a lot of time and miles into training, and I try sign up and run a few races. I am not fast. Nothing comes easy or naturally for me, so surely I am not a “real runner.”

Two years ago I initially decided to take it up a step and do this, for the simple fact, because I could. Because I have two feet that are connected to two legs and a body that were physically able to regain health after a small journey of being sick and not healthy. Never in my life had I had to experience that before, until I was forty. After an unexpected illness, I slowly began to heal physically, and I also started to push myself to start to heal mentally and spiritually. It would slowly become an entire health journey that I would embark upon, for the simple fact… that I could.

That I could.

And that is a luxury not everyone is granted, and I am well aware of that. I suddenly had a different outlook on the gift of my health that I had been given, and decided to be humble, and grateful, and to try make a difference both to myself and to my body, but also to everyone around me, as best as I could. Total transformation.  And it was not easy, and it was not quick, and it was not "comfortable." And it is still very much a work in progress.

I spent an entire winter attempting to run and train, and I ran my first half marathon as a virtual race, by myself, and my only goal was simply to finish. And shockingly enough, I did.

My second half marathon was this same race, one year ago. The amount of people and everything involved was so new and so foreign to me, I also just wanted to go and finish, and survive, and bring home a metal. And shockingly enough, I did.
I continued to train through the following winter and would do a visual half on my elliptical in March to celebrate my forty-third birthday. In June I did a very small, completely unorganized half marathon that started and ended on a covered bridge and had been on my bucket list. It only had a few hundred runners, basically no spectators, and again, shockingly enough, I somehow managed to not only finish, but to also get 3rd place in my age group.

I have to admit, I had secretly hoped to Sub2 on that covered bridge race. Meaning, run the entire race under 2 hours. And I really didn’t mention this goal to anyone, other than the voices within my head. If I didn’t tell anyone what I was hoping for, and I didn’t actually achieve it, then I had failed nothing and disappointed no one. Well, other than myself of course. Which in running, really is the only person that matters. I ran my poor little heart out, in the pouring down rain, and came in at 2 hours and 2 minutes. Enough to get a new PR (personal record) but not enough to Sub2.

I drove home with two metals and overall was happy that day, but a tiny bit disappointed. I wasn’t disappointed in the covered bridge run itself, I felt I had run it as strong and as fast as I possibly could, I was just disappointed that my best effort wasn’t enough to equal a Sub2 finish.

After that race I would continue on with my training, knowing I was already signed up for this race. I cycled back to training, week one and went through the motions and miles to train for another half all over again.  And after a little health scare when I found a lump in my breast, I also signed up for an unexpected virtual half marathon in honor of my stillborn daughter and to give myself one last half marathon race, just in case.  I didn't PR on that race, and I still didn't Sub2 - but it was within seconds of my finish at the covered bridge half, so again so close... so so close.

Yesterday two friends and I said goodbye to our families and headed to the city for a moms weekend away. We picked up our race packets and checked in to the hotel. I pulled my bib out and turned it over and saw I had registered for an estimated time of 2 hours and 20 minutes, which is the goal I had typed in at the time of registration. I knew the day I registered my goal was finishing at a Sub2. Of course it was. But, I put 2:20 just to make sure I was safe in hopefully achieving at least some sort of goal, my "fall back on" goal.

Why in the world do we do this? Or is it just me? Why lie or sugar coat something in hopes to possibly protect our own disappointment with ourselves if needed? Why dumb down the real and honest goal merely in order to protect ourselves from failure?

The alarm went off this morning and I got dressed, attempted to keep all the butterflies and lies at bay within my stomach and my mind, and a few hours later we found ourselves corralled in with blocks and blocks of body to body runners lined up, I was ready to take on this challenge.

I woke up probably the least nervous of any race I’ve done this morning. I was almost nervous that I wasn’t nervous. It would end up being probably the hardest race I’ve ever run. I was trained and I was ready, and I still silently clung on to that silent Sub2 goal and hope. While of course telling myself I also wasn’t really a “real runner.”

Mind games. Ridiculous mind games.

I actually allowed myself line up next to the 2:00 pace setter, in the 9:00 min / mile area, and pepped talked myself over and over again that I could do it. Today was going to be the day, I would do it today. I didn’t make myself line up at the 2:20 area and make myself try move up, I just started right where I honestly hope to be able to end.

It was crisp and cold. My legs were stiff and sore and not wanting to cooperate, I felt like I had to just drag them along. I won’t get into the gritty details of all thirteen miles, but this was a race that was hard, really really hard for me, a race that I did not enjoy doing, a race that I had to literally fight my way through more than ever before, a race that was so cold, and surrounded by so many other people. It was so mentally and physically exhausting to me, far worse than I was honestly prepared for.

I spent over two hours dodging in and around thousands of other runners, cold, ill, and just off on the inside. I battled a pace and a distance in my head that I just could not quite reach with my body. I disparately wanted to quit, to at least walk… but I didn’t. I dug in and continued on… I somehow just continued on.
Mind over matter. Mind over miles.

And I didn’t Sub2. I didn’t even PR. But… it was close. I was twenty four seconds off from a PR and two minutes and twenty four seconds off from a Sub2 finish. But I did not Sub2 and I did not PR. But I did however, get myself from the start line, back to the finish line, without stopping, without quitting, without walking.

I’m not actually sure why I’m even writing any of this right now if I’m honest. I didn’t meet my hoped for goal. I didn’t create a new personal record. I merely finished. Why am I admitting my “failures” out loud to you all right now? Why am I telling the world outside myself some of the secrets that I have been silently carrying around deep inside for so long but never actually admitting, never actually sharing…

Perhaps a moment of weakness.
Perhaps a moment of strength.

Yes, perhaps it is a moment of strength, a moment of vulnerability, a moment of transparency.

I sit here tonight thinking over all this and just have to finally ask, finally have to just wonder out loud, why is it that we feel we need to hide our real true hopes and goals and dreams. Why do we have to fear “failure” and why do we have to even define “failure” as “failure” if we don’t actually meet and acquire or attain any of the said real and true hopes, goals, dreams at the level in which we have placed it within us?

Yes, I think we all need to continue to set things that help push us and aspire us to be bigger, and better, and bolder people… things that bring us joy and on journeys that help us find wholeness and worthiness within ourselves. But why hide and sugarcoat and underplay the really big dreams coursing through us? Why are we scared to go after, really go after, some of those crazy big scary hard, possibly unattainable, but possibly attainable things in our lives? And why do we feel we need to set the final bar of “failure” directly on (or above) that exact goal, dream, hope?

Did I want to PR and Sub2 today? I sure did. Did I openly tell and admit that to anyone prior to this moment? I sure didn’t. Did I run my heart out and give it my all. I sure did. Does this leave me a failure after all is said and done and the officially race times are published publicly online for one and all to see if they wish? It absolutely doesn’t. The satan in my head is telling me I’m a failure, the satan in my head is telling me this unmet hope and expectation has yet again left me unworthy, still a non runner, still a non athlete.

I knew before I I turned the corner and saw the finish line a few blocks ahead that I hadn’t gotten it done. I still pushed through and finished, and those were the hardest and longest final two blocks ever. I still was proud to have that finishers metal placed around my neck. I still had fun cheering on and talking with others around me while I waited for my friends to finish.

Afterwards, I slowly walked back to the hotel (ok - hobbled is a more accurate term) and I was cold, chilled down to the very bone, sore beyond what I can even describe with words, mentally and physically done, shut done, finished. I had nothing left, and I had nothing gained.

I arrived back at the room without a PR and without a Sub2 to proclaim to the world, and I contemplated if I should just not share anything at all about any of it, since in essence, in my mind I had come home a “failure” from this race.  

But you know what… I’ve decided to share about this because I actually didn’t come home a failure at all. I chose to sign up, train, and compete in a half marathon, surrounded by over 7,300 other runners, in the cold Iowa fall wind. I had fought my mind and my body for over thirteen miles and for over two hours - fighting the a screaming cries to quit, to walk, to give up. But I hadn’t, I had somehow dug deep and willed myself to continue on.

I had continued on, and I crossed that finish line.

As I stood there afterwards, breathing, stopping, processing it all... all alone within the chaotic corral of finishers volunteers handing out metals, I also held in my hand and heart the burning reality that my best, my hardest, might never be Sub2 attainable.  A 2:02 just might be the best I will ever be. And if that is in fact my best, then I need to just be ok with that.

I am not actually a failure, and I am not weak. I do have strength, and perseverance, and tenacity, and grit coursing through my veins, and you know what… I am a runner. Whether I view myself as an athlete or not… I am not a failure, and I am technically, and officially, a “real” runner.

Let’s stop hiding our hopes and goals and dreams behind our masks of insecurities and unsureities. Let’s stop worrying about what other people might think, might say, might view us as - and start working on what we think, what we want, who we really are, and what we really want to become and achieve in life.

Let’s be daring, and willing to set dreams and goals as high and as bright as the moon and stars above, and then remember that “failure” is not “failure” if you are putting in the time, the passion, the drive, the diligence, the determination to reach for, to desire towards, to dive into it, whatever it is, with all our hearts, and souls, and minds.

Don’t let the whispers in your head, the lies from the world around you, the unattainable expectations that weigh it all down with a force greater than most can withstand, stop you from believing in yourself, loving yourself, bettering yourself, finding yourself. Finding the real you, the true you, the you that God ultimately crafted you to become. Be daring, be strong, be vulnerable and go after what it is you really want. But don’t define yourself as a failure based on a black and white invisible scale or line or specific number.

Dreams matter, so dream big. Don’t be afraid to name them, define them, openly share them, and then chase them down. And then remember, it’s actually the journey, the process, the entire path along the way that is what ultimately defines the success, the greatness, and the accomplishment.

Today was race day.  Today I was a runner.  Today I was a winner.

Previous blog post { "Today I Remember" } HERE.

{ Next blog post "The Dark Night" HERE. }

Today I Remember

Today is October 15th. It’s the National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. All day I have felt like I should blog something… post something… share something… feel something.

And here we are, nearly at the end of the day, and I’m still staring at a blank sheet of paper.

There just aren’t words coming to my fingers like there usually are. I’m just not sure what to say. I’m not sure what message needs to be shared tonight, what words needs to be spoken from my heart to yours. My heart feels a little empty, a little heavy, a little achy… but not at the intensity in which it sometimes does. It’s a little dulled and hazy today. Perhaps its the whirl of the chaos around me, perhaps is the healing salve that time has given me, perhaps is just that today is a good day, a day when the pain isn’t so intense and the reality isn’t so harsh.

Today I remember. I remember the little child within, whom we had so hoped, begged, pleaded, prayed for for so many years. Years and years and years we had waited to be blessed with the creation of life within. Years and years and years we had doctored, and tried, and researched, and cried. Oh the tears that we cried throughout all those years.

The ache, the empty, the disappointment, the desperation. Years and years and years we endure and carried on, and continued on without choice, without change.

We would adopt and we would continue on for many more years trying, and doctoring, begging and pleading, fervently praying to be healed from this disease that no one saw, this illness that no one recognized, this disorder that no one understood.

Infertility. Ugh, what a word. What a thick, rough, ragged, silent, ugly word. Unexplainable secondary infertility, an even uglier phrase, an invisible diagnose of the most mean and degrading manner.

Never did I dream I would find myself nearly forty years old, and sick… so very very sick. Never did I dream I would hear those fateful words “there’s a baby in there” when I least expected it. I was so caught off guard, so taken aback, so shocked I could barely process it all that day as I lay on my back on the narrow table in the dark room. I was only hours away from officially entering my second trimester. And we were only weeks away from officially having to say goodbye to this dear miracle.

Oh the whirlwind that followed. The appointments, the emotions, the tests, the waiting, the bed rest. The walls of my life and my bedroom continued to close in on me over the next several weeks. It’s a girl. Trisomy 18. Palliative care. Funeral arrangements. Cemetery plots. Insomnia. Emotional overload. Mental over-processing. Internal attempted numbing.

And just about as quickly as we had found out about her, we also had to say goodbye to her. The heartbeat was silent. The life within no longer alive. My life within nearly died right along with her.

The shattered dreams and hopes. The unexpected love and loss of something so tiny, something so unknown and still so completely known and fully loved all at the same time.

God chose to dance in Heaven with our little Faith MaryJo before we got to dance with her here on earth. God chose her to come live with Him before we got to live with her here on earth. I don’t pretend to understand, I don’t say that I’m ok with it all… because I don’t understand and I’m really not all that ok with it. But, I trust. It’s all I’ve got left to fall back on really. I trust the story, my story, our story, her story. I trust that God does have my back and does in fact have her safely in His arms right now.

So today I remember. Today we remember. Today we take a moment to light a candle and reflect on all that was and all that will never be. We think of those around us also on this journey of loss and pain and hurt and confusion. We take comfort in knowing we are not alone on our journeys of love and loss. Oh no, we are not alone. We may often feel like we are drowning in our own sorrows and in our own silence, but we are not alone.

We have the hope of our savior, the promise of forever in Heaven, and the love and support surrounding us of all those around us who are also grieving the loss of children that they had hoped and dreamt and pleaded for as well.

No, we are far from alone, even when we feel like we are lost and the only ones on this hot, desolate, dessert island of grief and confusion and anger and despair.

Remember and honor today with me. Remember the babies and infants, the lost heartbeats taken too soon, and yet exactly at the right time according to God’s timeline for all that is right and meant to be. Remember the moms, dads, grandparents, siblings, families, friends walking through this reality, this loss, this heartache, this quiet unknown.

Remember. Love. Honor. Cherish. Pray over. Extend grace. Remember.

{Next Blog post "Today Was Race Day" HERE }
{Previous Blog Post "The Other Me" HERE }

The Other Me

The shower water is running, the heater in the corner is on… I stand here in the steam and silence amid the heater hum.  It’s that moment of transition I seem to have to face every day. That time of going from that “one self” to that “other self."  From putting away that “pushing for me” self, to that “pushing for others” self.

I will wash off the sweat from the me that just pushed through four half marathon training miles immediately followed by a thirty-five minute intense workout video. I will close the shower door and emerge clean, looking over at the clothes laid out and wonder if they will still fit. The fancy cloths, the dress up clothes, the real clothes... the ones that don’t contain spandex and lycra and are guaranteed to fit and be comfortable no matter what size or number is on the scale.

I will dress-up, and fancy-up, to face the brutality of the day ahead, to greet the world beyond my own tiny, personal, silent, little bubble.  Switching gears from introvert, to extrovert.

I wonder what kind of mood the boy will wake up in today. What kind of crazy battle I’ll have to endure to get from this moment to the next moment when I clock in at work. I wonder what kind of day it will be at work and what kind of crazy battle it will be to get me to the next moment. The moment I clock out and return to the boy, to the home, to the to do list at home. Oh that damn to do list. The homework, the meals, the laundry, the cleaning, the bedtimes, the bills, the adulting.

Some days it’s all just too much and I just want to get in my car and drive away. Flee. Disappear.  Never come back.  Ever.

And then I hear that damn whisper of guilt and shame at how good I have it, how blessed I am, how selfish I am. I have running water. I have food in my cupboard. I have milk in my fridge. I have heat and air-conditioning and a roof over my head. I have two vehicles in the garage attached to my house. I have a husband and a family. I have a full time job, I have insurance, I have friends, I have family surrounding me, most within a five mile radius. I have a camper with two bathrooms, four beds, four tvs, a fireplace, and ceiling fan in it for crying out loud. How could I possibly not be just giddy with overflowing abundant joy every single second of my life?!?

I have no reason to be the drama queen my head is screaming at me to be from within. And yet… I find myself utterly exhausted and hanging on with broken fingernails at the very very end of my rope some days. Yesterday was one of those days… and today might very well be following in its footsteps, I don’t even know yet. It’s 6:30am, I’ve been up and at it for three hours, and to be honest, I am just dreading having to wake up the boy and face the rest of this day today.

I don’t want to do that other me today. I don’t want to... I want to be tired, and lazy, and selfish. I want help, I want rest, I want to be thanked. I don’t want to have to be angry or hollering to be seen in this house.

I want easy, I want rest, I want harmony, I want someone else to come in and take care of all my stuff… and I want them to do it to my standards, if not higher. Basically, I guess I just want it all and I don’t want to have to do anything to get it, have it, keep it, maintain it. That’s surely not too much to ask for is it?!?

I’m battling a half marathon mind game that is wearing on me. The tired side of me is telling me it’s ok to go in half hearted, half trained, go slow, tank it, and just get it done. And there’s another side throwing her hands up in disgust at me telling me of course I’m capable of running it in a sub two and I’m going to be a huge loser and disappointment if I don’t finally reach that goal in two weeks.

I’m battling a hefty mileage goal I set for the year that is also starting to take it’s toll on my mind and body. I’m battling those darn perfectism tendencies that keep hanging on for dear life around my ankles. I’m battling grasping a life's reality that is not what I ever imagined it to be. I’m not even sure what reality I actually even thought I would have in my life, but I guarantee this was not it.  (On a good day of course I will tell you it's far better than I'd ever hoped or wished for, but on the occasional bad day it's more-or-less just an all out Calgon Take Me Away mentality.)

Disappointment, heartache, exhaustion, overbooked, over extension, unattainable expectations, unknown destinations … all things that I have again allowed to cloud my sunshine, dull my sparkle, halt my momentum momentarily.

As much as I don’t want to do that “other me” today, I will climb in the shower, I will wash off the hard work from the previous miles and minutes of work. I will dry off and dress up and face the day. I will tackle the morning battles, I will clock in at work, I will give my everything to my day job. I will clock out, come back home and tackle it all yet again. One more morning. One more day. One more night.

One more… and then one more… and then one more… Some of those one more’s will be fantastic, some will be far from. Some will be easy, some not so much. Some will be memorable, some I will surely want to forever forget.

Our one more days will continue to come every single day that God chooses to wake us up and give us life and breath. Breathe in deep and find the grateful, find the grace, find the Lord have mercy on my soul ~ come on girlfriend you got this!

Each day is a gift, whether we feel it or not, whether we want to get up and do it or not. Each day is a new day to make a difference… make a difference in our own lives and the lives of others, in the “pushing for ourselves” us and in the “pushing for others” us. Whether we think it or not, whether we feel it or not, whether we own it or not... it does matter, yes... our days do matter.  So dig deep, hold on tight and continue onward.... Simply, continue onward...

{ Previous Blog Post "Days When I'm Done" HERE }