Running: A Poignant Metaphor for Life

This past weekend I competed or should I say ran in my first race in 22 months. Following sickness, injury, and “retirement”, I decided this summer I would run a half. I’d only run one official half in my life, and that was in 2007. I told myself I would do some long runs, and not make a lot of sacrifices, because I had sacrificed so much of my life training during high school and college. That was basically my training plan: Have fun and do some long runs.

As I toed the starting line last Sunday, it was a different atmosphere than I had ever experienced. It was dark, cold, and there were lots of people I’d never seen before. I’d always run with a team, or at least known half of the people at the race if it was in Baton Rouge. Standing outside shivering I wondered why exactly I was doing this and the purpose of it since I am a little OCD about everything in my life needing to have a purpose. For the first time ever in a race, I was totally anonymous. I knew exactly zero people in the race and knew there would only be one person cheering for me: my dad. Contrast this to the races at Highland where I knew almost everyone finishing in the top 25 personally and had at least ten people I’ve never spoken to cheering for me. But, this was fine, better than fine it was exactly what I wanted.

with my dad after the race 

For the first time I can remember there was no pressure, just the excitement of running through DC, VA, MD, seeing beautiful trees, conquering some hills and a beautiful bridge and having fun. Although I can never squash my desires for a challenge and a new PR, after so many years of being far from anonymous it’s nice. When you decide to do a race for fun, there’s an enjoyment in the process. You realize that 7:45 pace for long runs or 8:00 pace doesn’t matter all that much. You’re able to enjoy the conversations along the way. I had conversations with my run group about early childhood education at 6 am, saw the sun rise over National Cathedral, met someone appointed by the DOJ, a famous blogger, and had many worthwhile chats. People I would be unlikely to meet otherwise, I met on the run.

Woodrow Wilson Bridge

As I ran down George Washington Parkway with about 3000 others, I passed the beautiful fall trees and serenity of the sunrise. In the relatively rural area of Virginia, there were few spectators. The miles clicked away, I ran faster than I thought I should, but ran next a wounded warrior and a guy who would scream every time he saw a spectator. I prepared myself for the bridge at mile 10, and when I reached the top I was pleasantly surprised with a beautiful view of Alexandria and the capitol in the distance. Passing photographers, I attempted to smile. Seeing the strugglers, I knew it was my time to pass as many people I could. Struggling up a big hill at mile 12, I thought back to the hundreds of times running up the hill at mile 2.25 at highland and how every single time it had been hard, but I had made it. As a rounded the final corner and saw 1:37, I was surprised, thrilled, and exhausted. My only goal had been to run under 8 minute pace, but I surpassed it greatly, averaging 7:27 for a total of 1:37:43. And as content as I was with this, I cared the least I’d ever cared, because just finishing was enough.

rounding the last corner

Thinking back to last September, when I spent many nights crying not knowing if I’d ever be able to run again, I smiled (and almost cried) looking upon this small act that brings me so much joy and feeling more blessed than ever for the ability to run. To me, running is structure. Running is discipline, strength, and the ability to dig deep into your heart, legs, and lungs when your brain is sure you have nothing left. Running is a work ethic, determination, humility, and inspiration. Racing is joy, grit, and passion combined. Running is a poignant metaphor for life.

P.S. I'm still in pain, but just signed up for my first marathon. T-minus 122 days, March 15th, Rock n Roll USA, I'm coming for ya.