Repeater (Nope, Not Fugazi)
On March 26th, I published a blog related to history repeating itself. It's not always a bad thing; and when presented with choices, we might opt for the better route, hopefully, because we've learned a bit more. Hopefully.
If I rewind the clock to 2014, I wrote a blog about getting high during a race. In short, I had a shit day before the race and I planned to leave everything out on the course; my goal was to start behind Jane and see how far she could carry me.
Sunday's race started nearly the same; however, I didn't plan any of it. I did plan on using some early morning quiet time to settle my nerves. I did plan on using my warm up to clear my mind. I did plan on not being disappointed with my time, knowing that being faster WAS in the plan. Sigh, big plans for a little girl.
Without realizing it, I did line up about 4 feet behind Jane; my heart skipped a beat as I watched the reflection of the sun in her pearl earrings. I haven't followed her training much, so I was unsure of her current fitness level. Oh well, maybe I'll hang with her for a bit and then drop off. But that didn't happen. I fell into the same trance as I had before - her ponytail, her arms, the fluidity with which her shirt came to life on her body. A few times I fell further behind, only to catch back up as we approached a hill. At one point, a little more than halfway through the race, we were side by side. We continued together for a bit before I mumbled to Jane 'c'mon girl', teasing her to push the pace. With about 1.5 miles to go, I dropped Jane, never looking back. I pumped my arms through the home stretch, with the mantra 'ALL HEART' pounding through my head. Just before I crossed, I caught a glimpse of my girls cheering from their station.
I initially felt relieved after finishing; being damn proud that I was able to focus. Sure, the actual race wasn't my best and a few times the hills got the better of me; however, I crossed with kick, leaving almost everything out there. As the 3rd place in my age group was announced, my heart sank. My goal was to place 3rd again, but I knew I was about two minutes slower than the previous year. Disappointment quickly faded as my name was called for 2nd place. Certainly, this was a great moment with my girls, again, cheering me on as I accepted the coveted coffee mug.
There are so many reasons why this race means so much to me, why I put so much emotion into the outcome. Enough reasons to make me cry all over again:
This was the first race my parents went to. My Dad watched the field in awe and saw me in a different light - finding confidence in my stride. This was the first race my girls remember cheering at - lined up by the finish line with a cowbell in hand. This was the first race I actually placed in my age group; something I never thought could ever be possible. I saw what was impossible become possible. And it was used to launch me forward in a different way. I was proud that I could be a former fat kid, never coming from sport, actually participating WELL in a physical activity. It's both now a strength and my weakness.
This race continues to show me that whatever I do, the possibilities are limitless. I need to believe in my abilities: natural, trained, and those of the heart.