That which does not kill us...

I woke up at 6:45am (or should I say I was woken up at this time by my morning-loving children who clearly do not share my DNA). I dressed, gathered my things and left the house for my race by 7:30am. I was still very early, arriving about an hour before the 9am start time. Of course I had left my phone at home so I didn't even have that distraction in the car while I waited for the minutes to tick by. At 8:30am I finally got out and headed to the start area to get my CHIP and use the restroom (there's nothing cool about being in the middle of a race and having to use the restroom). I walked around, tried to warm up my muscles and keep my body warm in the 45 degree temperature. I had goose pimples on my legs because I refuse to run in pants and I knew I would warm up during the run.

The countdown began and we were off. The first mile was a warm up on paved roads taking us to the trail; then we entered the woods. The path was narrow and filled with rocks, the number of which multiplied the farther we went. Pretty soon I was jumping over fallen tree limbs, climbing over fallen tree trunks and rolling my ankles when I stepped in the wrong place, which was often. "This race trail is like nothing you have ever seen...you won't believe you're in San Antonio!" the race description promised me. Well, yes this heavily treed and very pretty area didn't remind me of San Antonio in the least, but there was no time to "enjoy the scenery" as it foretold. I could only focus on the ground and each of my steps to make sure I didn't fall or twist my ankle. There were many points where I had to stop and hike up rocks to continue on the path. After three miles I gave up trying to keep my pace where I wanted it and just focused on not falling. The work was grueling and my effort output was multiplied by ten times the normal amount used for a road race. I had never trained for this or experienced anything like this in my whole life! The thought of a "trail race" conjured images of dirt trails through a wooded area; this reality was just crazy to me! Why would a runner willingly put themselves at risk to break their legs trying to complete this trail? If I had only known, I wouldn't have done it.

Around Mile 5 I had my doubts. I had finally come to the realization that there wasn't going to be any "getting easier" part of the course like I kept convincing myself. So I walked. I thought about quitting. I felt like a huge failure. I wished a coyote, a mountain lion, a wolf, a bear, ANYTHING would appear in my path and end my misery (okay, maybe I exaggerate a little!). I passed the second water station at Mile 5.5 and stopped to take my GU and some water. I prayed that the GU would give me the strength to make it until the end, but I didn't have confidence. I reached 6.25 miles and realized I had under two miles to go, but I had to walk again. I JUST COULDN'T DO IT. I had nothing left. I picked it up and ran to 7.15 miles and stopped again. A woman passed me and said "we're almost there". I realized she was right, we were so close, just another mile. I felt defeated and beaten and felt like I had no strength or willpower to finish. But I forced myself to start jogging again, despite the pain in my feet, the aching in my knees, the fatigue in every bone in my body and the voice in my head that told me I couldn't. Finally, FINALLY I broke free of the trees and was on paved roads again, the same way we had come into the woods. My watch told me I was already at 8.10 miles and I knew I still had another quarter mile to go at least. I came around the final turn to face a huge hill standing between me and the finish line. WHY?? I saw my family waiting for me at the top. I slowly jogged up but had to walk. I didn't want them to see me like that and I didn't want to walk across the finish line so I conjured every piece of strength I had in me and forced myself to run all the way. I crossed the line, completely devoid of feeling or emotion when minutes earlier out on that trail I just wanted to cry. During the run I felt embarrassed. I kept thinking I wouldn't talk about this experience and wouldn't tell anyone about it because I was so embarrassed. I was mad too. I was angry that this was even a race on such a terrible running trail. But once I reached the finish I wasn't ashamed of myself. In fact, I was proud of myself. I hadn't set any records, not even close. But I completed an eight and a half mile race that just may have been the hardest thing I've done in my life. I've given birth to three children, gone through three labors and deliveries and THIS was the most physically challenging thing I've ever done. I keep thinking that maybe that's a good thing and maybe it will make the half marathon, set on PAVED ROADS, seem easier.

These experiences in life are great teaching tools. I learned about the kind of person I am and what I am capable of. Maybe someone else looks at what I did and thinks "who cares?". After all, if the top finisher in the race can run the course in a time of 58 minutes, how hard could it be? But we all have different strengths and weaknesses. One man's mile is another's marathon. And one woman's eight mile race is another's one hundred. I am proud of myself.

It only makes me stronger.