Finding the joy

I found this shirt at the race expo. I wanted it.

So did my daughter. I bought one for myself, and the next day we went back and we bought one for my daughter. She wore hers on race day. She wanted me to wear mine, too, but on the advice of my experienced runner family I opted to wear a shirt that I had trained in. As my daughter noted later, We don't want a repeat of "SOCKS" (For explanation, see here.)

I'm glad I bought the shirt, as it aptly summarizes my half marathon experience. And what I want my running life to be. As I'm sure you'll remember, in my very first blog post I had a list of long-term plans. One of these plans was: I will enjoy myself. And in a later blog post was the following goal: Find the joy.

I found it.

On the streets of Austin. On the faces and signs of the supporters lining the streets. In the words and smiles of my family and friends who came out to cheer me on. In my fellow runners.

In myself.

There is no way to give a full account of the day. What follows is my best attempt at gleaning the top portions.

There were six of us in our little running group, all of us signed up to run the half. Last week, one of the members told us that she was pulling out of the race. We were shocked by the news and sad that she would not get to be there after all of her hard work. On race day, as we arrived at our designated meeting point at 6:15am, in the darkness of pre-dawn, I thought I saw a familiar face. I tentatively wondered, Is that ... Michelle?

It was, and she was all decked out to run. My heart leaped with happiness and as the rest of our group arrived, there was much rejoicing on that street corner! There is a picture of her from after the race and I tell you, she is positively shining. Witnessing her courage and triumph is one of my favorite memories of the day.

We made our way to the start. At this point, I felt I had no realization of what I was doing; I didn't feel nervous or scared. It was an eerie calm that I had not expected. Like I was being carried along by the current of humanity that surrounded me.

After the gun, it took us 15 minutes to reach the starting line. The first mile kind of stunk. My foot was hurting and I wasn't too sure if the stiffness of the morning would ever shake out. It did, though, and somewhere between mile 2 & 3 was the first time I almost cried. Not tears of pain or insecurity or fear. But tears of happiness. There were crowds lining the street and as I ran by, a woman was shouting encouragement. Things like, "Let's go runners!" and "Looking good runners!" As her words reached me, they resonated in a particular way as I perceived that she was talking to ME, cheering on ME -- I am the runner of which she speaks.

My next misty-eyed moment came around mile 5. I was making my way up the long, gentle incline of Congress Avenue (which wasn't nearly as horrible as I had expected it to be.) It was somewhere along this stretch when I knew that I was going to finish, and finish well. I don't know how I knew, but I just knew, and the knowledge filled me with joy.

I loved seeing the signs along the route. Some motivational, some touching, some personal, some for the masses, some just plain hysterical. There were so many that made me laugh. I loved listening to the bands, having strangers call out to me by name, getting an encouraging text message from a friend, passing some people, being passed by others, seeing my city from a whole new perspective.

I also loved scanning the crowd for the next sighting of my family. My brother, as always, providing the plucky comic relief, and my sister-in-law providing the kind, encouraging words and sound, no-nonsense advice. I've said it before and I'll say it again - they are THE BEST race support team ever.
I think it was around mile 7 that I decided I was totally going to do this again. Maybe it was the magical downward slope of S. 1st Street. Downhill is fun. Downhill makes you feel good. Downhill makes you think you can run 13.1 miles like a gazelle.

Around mile 9 is when things got tough. New pains emerged. The hills got harder. Unfamiliar muscles twitched and cramped. I drew strength from those around me, from the setting of small goals, from the expectation of seeing my family waiting for me around the corner. In truth, I really couldn't keep myself from smiling. I was still having fun. Which may just be the weirdest thing I could have ever imagined.

The killer hill at mile 11.8? The one on 15th street between Lamar and West? I ran up half of it. No lie.

Somewhere in the middle of mile 12 I thought, I AM A ROCK STAR. And then I felt a little obnoxious about that. But then I decided I didn't care. So I said to myself, I AM A ROCK STAR! And I smiled.

Finishing was surreal. My running group, having finished [ahem]... some amount of time before me, was there shouting and cheering for me as I approached the finish line. Sometimes being the slow one has its benefits.
This is the certificate my daughter gave me after the race. I believe it is better than any fancy medal.
She is fantastic. She is 10 years old and she is ready to run.

And then today I received a surprise in the mail from a friend. When I saw her thoughtful gift, my heart melted. I felt incredibly special and loved.

Dear, sweet friend, you are a gift and a blessing. I thank God for you.

Finally, there is the one person without whom I never could have done this, never could have even believed it was possible for me to do. He always believed. He sees the better part of me and dares it to run. And is not surprised when it does.

I love you. Thank you for always believing in me. And thank you for making me get in that ice bath.