December 6, 2015. 8:27am.
On August 16, 2015, Jeff and I were sitting at home. It was a Sunday afternoon, and we'd just returned from our summer trip north the day before. Lily was napping, and I was stewing. I was anxious about the summer class I was about to start teaching; I was dreading returning to our grinding school-year schedule; I didn't feel good about my body or myself. I knew I needed some goal to work towards--something that didn't involve Lily or school--but I wasn't sure what.
Several women in my online community had recently been talking about the C25K (Couch to 5K) running program, and the conversations had caught my eye. They usually appeared in a weekly "Running Check-In" where I was a cautious observer but would never post. I'd run a few times in my life--first during the year of touring children's theatre after college, later in Baltimore with friends where I'd run a few 5Ks, and most recently in the months preceding getting pregnant with Lily. But I'd never been "a runner"--never fit in that elite club of people who liked to run, who ran for pleasure, who woke early on frosty Saturday mornings for a jog with friends. (For the record, I still don't.) Still, after investigating C25K, it seemed like a worthwhile program, so, on that hot August Sunday, I decided to lace up my sneakers, get off the sofa, and try doing a very small bit of running on the trails around our house.
Thankfully, C25K starts graciously slow, and I had the support of women in my online community who had been through it before. Around week 4, though, I nearly gave up. There was more running and less walking; my knees and ankles ached; I was having a hard time keeping up my commitment to run two mornings a week before school. Getting up at 5am just to face inevitable pain seemed pointless, and I hadn't even signed up for a 5K yet, so it wasn't like I was losing money. However, though I lacked real-life friends who had gone through the program, my online cheerleaders refused to give up on me. They suggested I get fitted for new shoes, repeat week 4 until I was ready to move on, and hand over that money for the December 5K on which I had my eye.
Weeks 5 and 6 weren't easy; the track was darker and darker when I hit it at 6:15am, and the new shoes weren't magical fixes. But I pushed through, and I couldn't be prouder of that. Yes, I'm a stubborn person who likes to accomplish her goals, but the process of achieving this goal wasn't seen by anyone but me; I needed to be my sole motivation. Or, at least, I thought I did--until I began picturing Lily at the finish line.
I want Lily to be proud of her mama, to see me as someone who sets her mind to something and achieves it. I want her to know that, while I struggle with my body and my perception of it, I fight to find things to be proud of it for. I want her to know that I run to be a better mama--because a morning run clears my head and physical activity gets out the frustration of being home with a toddler on long winter afternoons. I want Lily to know that I run so that she can run--or swim or dance or ride or kick or throw or bat--no matter how far-fetched that goal seems on a steamy August afternoon.
And so we arrived at race day. M, my best friend and Lily's godmother, had courageously agreed to be by my side on the 28-degree morning of the Run with Santa 5K. We pinned on our bibs at home, then headed to the race.
I hadn't done a 5K in over a decade, so I'd forgotten the nervous anticipation that buzzes around the start line. My friends were right--it gives you an energy that you don't have on your daily run, especially not if your daily runs are done alone around a track in the early hours pre-dawn. M and I weren't in this for the fast times, but the excitement of the other racers put an unexpected spring in my stride, and so the three miles passed quickly as M told stories of the dates she'd been on that week and I shared memories of my first 5K in 2000. We made the final turn and were down the home stretch before I expected.
Now, I wish I had some climactic story of the tears that streamed down my face as I saw Lily on her Daddy's shoulders at the finish line, clapping her little hands and yelling "Go Mommy Go!" But I don't. Jeff actually arrived a few minutes after we crossed the line (it's tough to get out of the house with a toddler alone!), and we ended up surprising them from behind.
But here's the thing: Lily's still at my finish line. She's still going to be the face that wakes me up at 5am tomorrow morning for my run, the smile that pushes me through the cold winter months, and the cheerful clapping that greets me when I conquer the next challenge.
I run for you, Peanut--to show you that you can do whatever makes you happy. I promise, it'll make your daddy and I pretty happy, too.
