I missed that feeling.
That feeling at the end of the day that makes you so dog tired that you manage to make two PB and J sandwiches and fall asleep on the floor face down. You are still dressed and don’t care. You don’t care that there isn’t a pillow beneath your head, nor do you care that your bed is in another room. The floor comforts your tired soul… the body needs to rest.
I missed the days of training for something so hard that there was literally nothing left - your body, mind and soul were all depleted. I missed the days when I carried my sneakers in my backpack just in case I wanted to run home from work or from the bar (please don’t get the wrong idea, I was not a frequent bar hopper, though would sometimes meet friends after a long night of work). I missed throwing on those sneaks and being able to run three miles (or five for that matter) like it was nothing…an effortless jog through the streets of Philly.
Those were the days that the only thing that saved me was training and running and swimming and biking. I was a triathlete and remained one for years. I loved it. I thrived on it and I ate polluted waters of the Cooper River for lunch and threw them up during the run leg of the event. My body was strong and I felt like I could do anything.
And though the sweet days of college have long passed, I must admit, I love these days too. Embracing a foreign country, running through cobble stoned streets; hearing church bells ringing and watching boats move their loads up and down the Rhine. Each journey and each moment is a season, and this season is a splendid one indeed!
And as I continued to long for those dog-tired days, I realized that there are aspects of oneself that defines the very essence of who you are and for me that is a woman who moves. I love to see the body move, train and perform in ways that I might not have thought were possible. I missed that piece of myself that registered for a race that I might not think was possible, only to see if I was capable of the unknown. I missed the challenge, I longed for the goal and most importantly, I missed that little part of me.
The idea of signing up for a half marathon seemed exciting and very doable now that I was a year post the birth of my sweet son. Little did I know that finding the time to adequately train for such an endeavor was all too elusive as a new mother. Nonetheless, the race day quickly came and I felt anything but prepared. But with the “never quit unless you are dying” motto in my head, I knew there was no choice but to cross the finish line.
13.1 miles turned out to be a slow and subtle victory. With a little Blink 182 and other slammin’ tunes playing in my ear, a great fan club, and a beautiful day, I felt strong and capable. And during those moments that I would rather walk than run, sit than stand, I reminded myself that anything is possible and I ran for the reasons I ran years ago…for all the people who cannot and I felt grateful that I had an able body to carry me through until the glorious finish!
Basel half marathon 2010
