How I survived my first 10K and even laughed

 A bum knee, an emotional collapse, and a car breakdown.
The world did NOT want me to run my first 10K this morning, but God willing...I did.

It was one of those "I miss mom weeks." I found a lot of happy the past five days, but not enough to keep me from tears the entire week. In fact, I managed to cry on the way home from work earlier this week. Car crying is my favorite because you get to face the awkward walk from the car to your apartment with cry-face. No sir, I haven't been crying. I just have really bad allergies.

Being independent for the past ten years has made me dependable, self-motivated, and fairly confident as of late. But sometimes I face, what seems to be, unfathomable loneliness. It always takes me over when I get hung up knowing what my mom is missing and the moments in my life that she'll never share. I get stuck thinking; No one will ever love me like Mom did. Everyone else has someone they love more. That feeling can hit me like a ton of bricks, even when I'm surrounded by family and friends.

That said, I ran twice this week. I did two short 20-minute jogs. The knee felt fairly good after staying off of it for nearly two full weeks and finding some antiinflammatory drugs that actually work. I did some strength training during the week, and although I was "bummed" about my "bum" knee, (See what I did there?) I actually got excited thinking about overcoming it to finally finish my first timed run.

Last night when I laid out all my gear for this morning, I got REALLY excited...and nervous.


New running top, shorts, knee brace, running pack, bandana, headphones, magic jellybeans. For the first time, I felt like a runner. I felt more like a running tool that was over-prepared and slightly obnoxious, but a runner none-the-less.

I wanted to sleep by 8 P.M. but phone calls and text messages kept me up well past ten. My 3:30 A.M. alarm was an unwelcome sound.

I hopped right out of bed, ate my breakfast and jumped in my car. I could only get a bagel down. I brought other food with the intention of eating it on the way or before the race, but I was too nervous to eat. I was shivering from the cold and nerves when I walked to my car. I popped off a quick text to Eric to let him know I was on my way. About ten miles outside of town, all that loneliness left me. I had forgotten how incredibly happy I was to be able to do this. A year ago I struggled to mostly walk a 5K. Eighteen months ago, I could barely walk around the track once. This opportunity to run was a blessing, and to not embrace it fully, with the best attitude possible...would have been a waste. I felt silly for being sad all week. Wanting my mom there wasn't going to make the run any more special. I miss her, but conquering this is another step in my life and I needed it to happen for me, regardless of who could be at the finish line to celebrate with me.

I made it past St. Joe and then it happened.

BOOM.

I heard a pop and my car started smoking. It started "steaming". Let's be clear about that my dad would tell me on the phone. So there I was; excited, happy...and stranded. I called my sister, Rikki.

"Did your car break down?" she asked. She was on her way up to Maryville to meet me to run the half-marathon and had just passed me when I was getting out of my car. She circled back and picked me up. And thanks to my dad, I got to continue on to my run without worrying about my car. "I'll take care of it, sweetie. Get to your run."

We made it to Maryville. I was in a state of "pee-emergency" by this point from all the water I had been drinking, but I grabbed my race-packet and waited for Eric to get there. By the time he and his girlfriend arrived, it was only 15 minutes before race time. We peed, lined up, and off we went!

Mile one was difficult. The second was worse. Hill after hill after hill. But miles three through five were great and I couldn't believe we were almost finished. We kept a pace that let us chat throughout the run. It was great having someone to run with. Eric's girlfriend met us at mile three with lots of cheers and at mile five some man was hitting a giant drum aggressively to keep our spirits up. Worked for me! Eric was less impressed.

The last mile was hard. My knee began to hurt and my hip started giving me trouble, but and hour and a little over 12 minutes after we had started, we crossed the finish line (not last I might add). All this build up, and then it was over. Even with the knee pain, all I could think was...I can't wait to do this again.

We waited for Rikki to cross the line after her half. She ran 13.1 miles with bronchitis. Damn. That's either awesome or crazy...or both. We all got in a good laugh as Rikki searched for her medal. "Where's my medal?! That's the reason I do these ya know?!" We took some post-race pictures, hit up some yard sales and headed home.

Things like this don't happen in my life. I don't run races. My car doesn't break down and I get to just go about living my day like nothing happened. But my dad answered his phone at five in the morning and arranged a tow so I could do my run. My sister picked me up, showed me the ropes, and drove out of her way to take me home. Eric ran with me the entire time, even though he could have gone much faster than me. They all told me they were proud of me.




I survived my first 10K.
Bum knee, emotional breakdown, car trouble and all.
But I think the most important thing I realized is, I'm not alone.

Bring on the next one!