So on a Friday night I began to get grumpy and nervous. I packed and unpacked my trail running backpack. Too much possibility of chafing. I screwed and rescrewed my water bottle toppers. Too much leakage. I lamented over long sleeves or arm warmers. Compression socks or regular? But ultimately I started to really doubt myself. On not a lot of sleep I awoke at 4am, loaded into the Subaru and drove up to Mt. Ashland. That's right, not only was it 31 miles, but it was a trail run at altitude, with steep inclines and declines. If I wasn't nervous enough, I pull into the parking lot and it's full of neon compression and trail runner sinewy muscle. There was stretching, warm-ups, machismo talk. I became even more nervous. It didn't matter that I'd run 26.2 miles many, many, times, 31.8 sounded like so. . . much. . . more. My good friend and her husband were running the 15K and they pumped me up before the run. Truthfully, I think they wanted to remind me to take it easy. The gun went off, and I plodded on.
Interestingly enough, the run mirrored a lot of my life. The first ten miles were easily recalled at the yearly/mile markers with birthdays or favorite teachers. Basically from birth to ten years old, and from miles 0-10, life was pretty sweet. I cruised through. Many happy memories, lots of friends, the miles just flew by. Miles 12 and 13 were pretty rough for me. Similarly, Jr. High was not a highlight. I was awkward, kids were mean, and school was not my favorite place. Miles 14-18 treated me a bit better. My braces came off, high school was fun, boys noticed me, I had a good group of friends, college was nearing. I worked independently through those years and earned money. I had a slight hiccup at mile 16, and that's when I got into a really gnarly car accident. I can still remember how pretty that 1980 white pickup looked with a big purple bow, and how mad my dad was when he met me at the hospital.
Miles 19-21 were full of beautiful scenery. I was in love and newly married. I graduated college, moved out of my parents' house, and into a 780 square foot cozy home with my husband. Life was beautiful. Up until this point on the course I didn't really need to walk. I was taking in salt tablets and food. I had managed. However from miles 21-24ish I had to walk quite a bit. Actually, almost the whole way. It was steep, rugged, and hot. My stomach started acting up, and my quads were shot. I began to doubt myself, my ability to finish. These years of my life were challenging. I was working, going back to school, which was 2 hours away, nurturing a new marriage, and then, we lost our first born child. At this point in my life, I doubted my own ability to go on. To trust that everything would be okay. I can still recall laying in bed and waking up in the middle of the night sobbing because the pain was just so great. Asking my mom and dad to call me when they left and arrived at different destinations. Imagining that something would happen to Bradley on his way to or from work. Getting pregnant again and worrying the. . . entire. . . time. But slowly, somewhere between when my watch ticked off mile 24 and mile 25 I began to run again. I actually counted my steps. 100 walking, 100 running, 100 walking, 100 running. I was stronger than the discomfort and the pain. Just like that 25 year old, I could handle the steps of life. I kept running, I kept living. Prior to this race, the longest I had ever run was 28 miles, which was the year in my life when my dad passed. Both unknown territories. Living without him, and running beyond that number. I made it to mile 29 and I felt proud. Miles 29-30 were hard work, much like the last year of my life as a first year principal and working mom, but they were so rewarding. I didn't focus on the negative but was able to reflect on what I had accomplished to get to that point in the run.
The best part of the race? The finish. Not because it's like beating your head against the wall and you feel better when you stop. Nope. My family was waiting for me and cheering me on. My mom had driven Bradley, the boys, and our new puppy Mary up to the mountain. Carter ran across the finish line with me. It wasn't a race for time, just like life shouldn't be raced. It was roughly six hours out of the last 271,560 that I have spent living this life.
This past month has been busy with cousins' week in Carlsbad, running, biking, waterslides, trips to the river, swim lessons, and mom being a CA Champion for Change. Stay tuned, the casting agency from the state just called and they want this Champion for Change in their next round of videos. . .
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