I started out in the middle of a congested pack of people. Imagine a stampede of about 1,400 runners squeezing through a 20-foot gate. The crowd slowly moved until we approached the starting mat and then runners took off. I was focused. I was going to try to get a P.R. (Personal Record.) I have never completed a 10K race in 60 minutes or less. I was determined to do it today. Unfortunately, I forgot that about 500 other people around me had very different goals in mind.
Move. Out. Of. My. Way! As a somewhat newbie runner I might come off sounding harsh, but pay attention: If you are a walker in a race, out of courtesy to others, please, please, please start at the back of the pack. There is nothing more frustrating than hopping, skipping and jumping around groups of walkers in the first 100 yards of a race when you’re trying to P.R.. Whew. Okay, I said it.
I made it through the initial crowd and by the end of the first half-mile it finally began to open up. I eased into my pace and hoped I could hold on to it for the duration of the race. I focused on my breathing. Nothing else. My legs were strong. I’ve run farther than this before. But it was damp, humid and on the verge of raining again…and unfortunately, I suffer from allergy-induced asthma. (Ugh.) It’s not too bad really. But on days like today, it feels like I’m half-submerged in a pool and the air is thick and wet and my lungs feel pressurized…like they are being squeezed with an unseen force from all sides. It’s hard to describe. So, during this run, I was focused on breathing. Hard breath out. Slow, controlled breath in. My feet know what to do. It was a matter of whether my lungs and heart could keep up with the pace I was about to push them at.
I hit the split button on my watch at mile 1 and saw 9:31. Not bad. Slower than I had hoped, but I did have to do a lot of weaving through the initial crowd. I continued on and at the end of mile 2, I was pleased to see a 9:13 pace. Running the third mile, my breathing became harder and louder and I probably annoyed a bunch of runners around me with my gasping, Neanderthal mouth breathing. Breathe, Julie. Just Breathe. I had run mile three in 9:23 and was feeling tired.
And then, something unexpected happened….
I felt a yank and tug at my pigtails! What-the--!???
I turned and smiled. A friend had come up from behind and recognized me. She’s a veteran runner, so I was thrilled for the company. I told her I wanted to P.R. and she asked me, “What are you going for?”
I managed to choke out, “Breaking 60.” We ran on and I added, “As long as I keep you in my sights, I think I have a fighting chance.”
“Just watch my feet,” she shouted as she pulled slightly ahead.
And I did.
I stared at her shoes hitting the ground about ten feet in front of me and the only thoughts in my head were: Stay with those feet. Breathe. Stay with those feet. Breathe.
Oh great. The bridges were coming up. I remember these from running this race last year. I laughingly shouted (to anyone who cared to listen, or was running in my vicinity), “Woohoo! Bridges! Don’t get motion-sick!” The guy running in my peripheral vision kind of snorted at my comment and ran ahead of me. Ha. Just you wait, Mister.
You see, if you’ve never run on a wooden bridge with a lot of other runners, it’s quite an experience. The thundering, moving boards underneath your feet are okay until you get to about the middle of the bridge where it actually starts to move and sway. It can literally make you airborne for a split second and then give your ankles a crushing surprise as your foot connects to the ground again at an unexpected moment. Keep in mind you’re fatigued, out of breath and running at your near-top speed. Some runners actually get sick or dizzy. Some will lose their balance. Others will just yelp in frustration (as I did) with the off-balance equilibrium.
Peripheral Vision Man lost his footing slightly and also gave a yelp. Loudly. Then he kind of turned to look at me and laughed. See? Told ya.
I kept my eyes down and watched my friend’s feet. “Just keep her in your sights,” I told myself. The path we ran wound through the trees and then began a fairly steep incline. Crap. I hate hills. “Ugh,” I grunted as I pushed upwards.
“Lengthen your stride,” the running feet called out to me, not even glancing back. Easier said than done.
“Yep,” I gasped, through my gulping breaths. I dug my feet in harder, feeling every muscle in my legs being used to full capacity as I pushed upwards breathing through clenched teeth. At the top of the hill we curved to the right and I slowed to catch my breath.
My friend began to pull away but that was okay. I could still see her. I needed to get my breathing under control. Over and over again, I told myself, “Relax. Just Breathe, Julie. Breathe.” I somehow missed the mile 4 marker and cursed. A water/Gatorade station was ahead and I slowed to a walk to take in the much-needed fluid. I gave myself an extra 15 seconds of walking while I gulped Gatorade because I was really out of breath. My friend pulled farther and farther away and I lost her. Darn. Just keep running, Julie. I moved my feet faster. Where is that finish line?!?
Just. Breathe.
I came up to the mile 5 marker and told myself, "This is it. Final push. You’re almost home." I focused on turning my feet over. And over. And over.
And then, just as the course nears the end, there’s a blasted hill – one final test of strength before hitting the mile 6 marker and the last two-tenths of a mile. My breathing got louder, faster and harder. Where is that finish line?!?
All I could hear was my own distracting gulping of oxygen. Geesh, I’m even annoying myself! That thought made me smile as I ran on. What must these other real athletes think of this pig-tailed, dorky, Neanderthal mouth-breathing, clod-hopper runner-girl trotting alongside them?
Then, I realized I didn’t care.
I was running.
And I was doing something for me that nobody could take away from me in that moment.
I kicked it up to a sprint as I came up to the finish line. I saw the clock and was mystified. I think I just hit my P.R.! I crossed the finish line and leaned over on my knees to catch my breath. There is nothing like it…crossing the finish, knowing you’ve just run the fastest race of your life. You did something you never did before. You did something you never thought possible. And you did it on pure mental strength, determination and of your own power. My official time was 58 minutes and 47 seconds.
The race was hard. I pushed my body to its physical limits.
And just like many situations in our lives, sometimes we go through hard times. Emotional turmoil. Stress at work. Family complications. Sickness. Divorce. Death.
Life can be hard. You feel like you'll never see the finish line. How will you get through it? It feels like you’re half-submerged in a pool and the air is thick and wet and you feel like you are being squeezed with an unseen force from all sides and you wonder, "Can my heart hold out?"
Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it.
Just remember to breathe. It will be hard.
You will have to push and use every ounce of strength you have, both physical and mental.
You might need to lean on a friend for part of the way.
You might hit some crazy bounces along the way.
You might lose sight of your strength.
But it’s there.
If you dig down, it’s there.
Breathe.
And when you cross your finish line, you will know that feeling.
Just. Breathe.