The Race.

This past weekend I participated in a 7K race.  This is humorous on any number of levels.  I have never been an athlete in my life and abilities in athletics have always held a little bit of facsination for me.  I tried, I just don't really have it . . . at all.  So why the race, you may be thinking.  Well, I am eternally fighting 20 lbs, so exercise is part of the reason.  The real reason is that my late husband Tim was an athlete.  He convinced me long ago that working out was so important, and that despite having no athletic ability, I could still work out.  He bought me an elliptical trainer because I have a troublesome knee so running was out of the question.  And he taught me that I could do it.  He praised and hi-fived me for working out and never failed to say Good Job, Babe!  He even played racquetball with me to show me I was not, in fact, completely without athletic ability and cheered me on while I did a half marathon on the elliptical.  The lesson was overcome.

So there I was, going to a race.  I did a 5K a while ago and we had a little trouble getting to the starting area and ended up doing probably an additional mile and a half just getting to the starting line.  So I planned ahead, picked up Jenna early and already had my parking in the ramp.  Jenna is a runner like her Dad was so we would do this together.  We got there early and did all the things we needed to do before the race starts.  It's a theme race, so it's all about Irish and St. Patricks Day so there is a sea of green around me.  People warming up and getting ready all around me, taking their athleticism for granted.  I can feel the excitement welling up in me for the starting line.  

The crowd moves towards the start of the race.  All 5,000 people staggered for 2 or 3 blocks waiting for the starting line.  And the race begins.  My music is blaring in my ears, the air feels rather cold, the fog has almost burned off and the sun can be felt through the light clouds that are left.  I start my speed-walking, trying to establish my pace.  I try to stay the same pace when I walk, no matter what the terrain.   I am passing the first marker 1K, passed.  I get that same feeling that I always get at the beginning of my work out--Holy Shit, I still have 6 more to go!!!  But then I surrender to my music again and let it help create my pace.  The hill is coming, I'm feeling strong again because here is where I can shine, my pace does not slow, but many of the runners' does.  They are slowing and I am kicking it, I am conquering the hill and I make it over a little breathless, but breathe in the cool air and look at the cold swirling Mississippi River under me. 

I am flying now, Tim's wings on my shoulders are making me glide.  My pace is even, the music continues to move me forward and I am in "THE ZONE".  Now this is especially exciting for me; I have heard of the Zone from runners all my life, but not really experienced it until I started speed walking and more importantly, racing.  It's a place where my breathing is even, I'm not tiring, my legs feel strong, I don't have to put thought into my movements.  It's so exhilarating.  Now I will never be towards the front, but when I looked behind me, I sure as hell wasn't at the back either!  I come to the last hill, back over the river and the song comes on my MP3 player, it's F**K You.  Now this is meant to be an amusing song and it was just the thing that not only drove me with power over the hill but I must have had a triumphant smile on my face too for the humor of it.  The runners are tired, many are walking over the hill as I pass one after another because my pace did not slow and the song taunts the runners around me in my ears.  I pass the marker, 6K, I'm almost at the finish!  

I am using all my remaining energy to power my way to the end.  I go a little faster, turn a curve and see the FINISH LINE.  I talk my left arthritic knee to go along with me and RUN over the finish line.  I made it, and Jenna comes through the crowd from her much earlier finish and we throw our arms around each other.  They hand me my medal as a finisher; they don't really know what that means to me.  And I shaved a full minute per mile off my time that I was achieving at home.  Jenna, being the wonderful runner she is, was first in her age class. 

We looked at each other and said "He would be so proud of us".