A race to remember
I ran my first post-Boston Marathon race on Saturday. Corporate Challenge 2013- 5k.
I toed the line, with thousands of others of my fellow athletes, in the cold, the rain. The mic was bad. It was hard to hear. But we stood there, amped to run. "Aren't they going to sing the National Anthem, especially after what happened in Boston?", asked a fellow participant. "They do every year", I answered, "Maybe we just can't hear them.". Boston was on all of minds, yet the only nervous energy in the air was that of runners ready to race. We were there for a purpose, to run like we've always done. To race until our lungs burn, fighting for any bit of oxygen they can find. To push until our legs beg for a downhill. So we ran. Hard.
We ran, we PR'd ( or we didn't, although technically, it IS a post-Truman PR). WE ran, and when we were done we talked about how the course wasn't as fast as we thought it would be and how the elevation chart was deceiving. It was all so normal. I saw the woman, from another company, that I had lined up next to before the race started. "How'd it go?" she said. "Good, you?" I answered. We high fived and celebrated our successes.
Honestly, I wasn't nervous to race..strike that, I'm always nervous before a race, but I wasn't worried about anything other than the 3.1 miles that were ahead of me. It surprised me. In the days leading up to the event, I thought about the 'what ifs'. What if there's a copy cat out there? What if my desire to run is what takes me away from my son...forever? But on Saturday, as I stood amongst those people that find joy in the same gut wrenching, leg aching, lung burning "fun" that I do, I felt no fear. I felt the strength of a group of people that I am lucky to be a part of. In my heart I knew that the actions of a few could not deter the strength of the many, but still, it was nice to see that confirmed.
I toed the line, with thousands of others of my fellow athletes, in the cold, the rain. The mic was bad. It was hard to hear. But we stood there, amped to run. "Aren't they going to sing the National Anthem, especially after what happened in Boston?", asked a fellow participant. "They do every year", I answered, "Maybe we just can't hear them.". Boston was on all of minds, yet the only nervous energy in the air was that of runners ready to race. We were there for a purpose, to run like we've always done. To race until our lungs burn, fighting for any bit of oxygen they can find. To push until our legs beg for a downhill. So we ran. Hard.
We ran, we PR'd ( or we didn't, although technically, it IS a post-Truman PR). WE ran, and when we were done we talked about how the course wasn't as fast as we thought it would be and how the elevation chart was deceiving. It was all so normal. I saw the woman, from another company, that I had lined up next to before the race started. "How'd it go?" she said. "Good, you?" I answered. We high fived and celebrated our successes.
Honestly, I wasn't nervous to race..strike that, I'm always nervous before a race, but I wasn't worried about anything other than the 3.1 miles that were ahead of me. It surprised me. In the days leading up to the event, I thought about the 'what ifs'. What if there's a copy cat out there? What if my desire to run is what takes me away from my son...forever? But on Saturday, as I stood amongst those people that find joy in the same gut wrenching, leg aching, lung burning "fun" that I do, I felt no fear. I felt the strength of a group of people that I am lucky to be a part of. In my heart I knew that the actions of a few could not deter the strength of the many, but still, it was nice to see that confirmed.
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