Both applied to yesterday.
I wrote on my arm, Hebrews 12:1 "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off the weight and everything that hinders us, and run with perseverance the race set before us."
I joined the trail running group eight weeks ago. Our first run was on the Riverside State Park trail near the cemetery. I did pretty good. I thought, "I can TOTALLY do this!" The runs got progressively harder, longer, and more technical. Last week, I did the five mile trek, and I thought, "I can do Happy Girl no problem!" I had aspirations of a two and a half hour finish.
The race began on the same leg as the first trail we ran. Piece of cake, I zoomed through people as the familiar trail was, dare I say, easy. I did four miles and caught up to the second group of runners. (There were three groups). I was easily doing ten and a half minute miles. Then I looked down at the six mile mark and I almost cried. Mom was gone.
Mom has technically been gone. She passed a year and a half ago. I run with her happy smile around my neck on a dog tag. She has completed every race so far with me.
I stopped and ran backwards for about a quarter mile. I didn't see her. I started praying HARD someone would find her and bring her back. I notified the next aid station on the trail.
The trail got more technical, and without Mom, I felt a little lost, and a lot sad. I decided to keep going, telling myself, I could always get another one, if it didn't show up.
By mile 8 it was hard to pick my feet up all the way, and I slipped on horse poop that was on a rock. I didn't see the rock until it was too late. My ankle hurt. Bad. Like white streaks in my vision bad. I decided it was okay to cry. I didn't stop though. I invented this hop/skip/limp thing that must have looked hilarious to the people behind me. But I didn't care.
I started to walk. The twisted ankle caused some kind of muscle spasm to kick in. My calf muscle seized up and hot, searing pain greeted me with each downward step. The lady behind me pointed to my calf and said something like, "That doesn't look good." But I told her I was fine. So I did a tip-toe run to stretch the muscle and keep my momentum in a forward direction. It worked. Sort of, anyway. I now have a blister that made my husband nauseous to look at.
For the rest of the race, I did a run a bit, walk a bit, run a bit, walk a bit. Then I got the call from my husband asking if I was okay. "I'm alive." I told him, "In pain like no other, but I am alive." He was sympathetic. "Get here when you can. I love you. I am proud of you." I got off the phone and started to cry a little again. I had one mile left to go.
I saw my family at the edge of the property with my unicorn. Excitement, pain, happiness, agony, and a little disappointment in myself were all emotions I felt. But they were the best thing I had seen all day. My family loves me. My husband had said the night before bringing the unicorn, "would be humiliating." I told him not to worry about it. But my oldest, an eleven year old boy, wanted me to ride the unicorn over the finish in the first place. What woman rides a unicorn over the finish? Me. I did. I rode a unicorn over the finish line of the half marathon.
My time wasn't great. It took three hours, pretty much even. Overall, I came in 442 out of 594 runners. My body hurt in places I didn't know I had. Walking is a bit sketchy. Going up (or down) the stairs isn't fun. (Which reaffirms my decision my next house will be single level. My current home has four levels).
I posted a plea to fellow racers to keep an eye out for the necklace of Mom. Social Media, in all it's faults, saved Mom from a second tragic loss. The company that made the necklace went out of business. I could not have replaced it if I wanted to. To the person that found her and turned her in, please let me know. I want to send you a bag of coffee and a thank you card. I was able to go pick up the necklace yesterday afternoon. My necklace of Mom is safe and sound.
I got a beautiful sterling silver necklace at the finish. I wore it the rest of the day. One side says "Happy Girl" the other "Finisher 13.1 miles." Worth every bruise, sprain, strain, and blister.
I put my race bib over my desk. It is a reminder that even when you think you are prepared for something, bad things may happen. You have to keep going. You have to stay strong.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Copy write September 28, 2014 H.Jennings. Under NO circumstances may any portion of this article may be used, cited, spun, or translated into other languages (I SEE YOUR GOOGLE IP ADDRESSES) without WRITTEN CONSENT. This and all information on this blog is subject to the rights and laws of the United States of America. Stay off our blogs, out of our land, and be thankful we are the greatest country in the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment