With My Own Two Feet

Typically, I shy away from making New Year's resolutions.  These always seem to be lofty commitments you try to make that you end up ditching before Groundhog's Day comes to pass.  But as 2012 came to a close, I had an idea that was too tempting to pass up, so instead of a resolution, I made a goal for 2013.  And more than a goal, it was a promise to myself.  I committed to running a race a month in 2013, and though there were a few times I questioned why I set out to do such a crazy thing, I am happy to report that as of this past Sunday, my goal is complete.

The closer I got to that final finish line, the more I thought about the meaning this year has had.  Each race, no matter how short or long, held significance because it meant I was one step closer to achieving something major in my life.  Each race, each mile, each step had its own meaning.  And the biggest meaning of all, I did it all by myself.  Everything I ever told myself I couldn't do...wasn't capable of...shattered the second I crossed that final finish line.  Because while I had a lot of support along the way, there was only one person who could physically complete this task:  Me.  I did it.  With my own two feet.

JANUARY
New Year's Race (Los Angeles, CA) - 13.1 miles
Coastal Walk/Run (Los Angeles, CA) - 6.2 miles

I entered the new year with a little bit of confidence in my step.  I had embraced my first ever half marathon in October of 2012 and did it in an impressive time, given my lack of running history.  So when I lined up at the start line for the Inaugural New Year's Race, I was pretty confident that I'd be able to at least match that time.  Yes, it was night time and yes, it was a bit chillier, but how hard could it be to shave at least one second off of my last result?  By mile 3, I knew I had mistaken confidence for cockiness.  As the pain in the left ball of my foot sharpened, I wondered how far I'd be able to push it.  And by mile 6, after rounding the bases of Dodger Stadium, I wasn't sure if I could run any longer.  And while walking wouldn't typically be so bad, the 9 p.m. start time meant that it was getting late and cold.  My body was shivering and my muscles were cramping.  If this is how I felt in my first race of the year, how was I ever going to accomplish this lofty goal?  This is exactly why I didn't make resolutions; they were always impossible to keep.  With two miles to go, just when my crankiness was at it's highest, there was AJ at the sidelines.  He had finished the race much earlier and, thanks to the beauty of text messaging, knew I was struggling.  He jumped onto the course and ran by my side.  And what did I do?  I told him to leave.  I told him I didn't want to talk, and I was too cranky to hear his positive support.  He smiled at me, reminded me I could do it and quietly made his way back to the finish line so that he could be there when I crossed.  Even as he walked away, his words stuck with me.  Just having him at my side for those few minutes meant so much because my crankiness was no match for his love and support.  I took a deep breath, and I chugged along.  I let go of the anger I was having toward my own body for not being strong enough, and I started to remind myself that I had plenty of strength just by being on the course.  I reminded myself that my finishing time didn't matter.  What mattered was finishing.  So I crossed that finish line a full 30 minutes slower than my previous half, and I let AJ put his arms around me in a congratulatory hug.  I felt the warmth of Anthony's smile when he, too, embraced me.  And as discouraged as I felt, I knew I wasn't ready to give up on this goal.

It was only a few weeks later that I found myself lined up at the next starting line.  This time, it was in the rain.  It rains so infrequently in Los Angeles that when it does, you have to expect that it will happen when you have something you need to do outside.  But this race, while smaller than the New Year's Race, had it's own significance.  This is the race that opened my eyes to running.  It was only one year before that Yas had asked if I wanted to join her team for the Coastal Walk/Run as a fundraiser for her job's philanthropy.  I kindly reminded her I didn't run, and she told me I could walk it.  "My parents are going to walk it.  They typically even cheat by cutting down a path that leads them straight to the finish line."  Since I adore Yas and her parents, and since many of my friends were doing it, I figured I had nothing to lose.  So one year later, even though I had already accomplished my January race, I couldn't not participate in the run that started it all.  And since I was training for future races, I took the plunge and registered for the 10k option.  It rained the entire race, but as I neared the finish line, I couldn't help but think of the me that had crossed this same finish line one year earlier.  I had come so far, and yet this was still just the beginning.  So I finished and joined my friends to continue our singing and laughing in the rain.  And in that moment, I knew it was going to be quite the year.