My First Race

You know you are a runner when...
That question can be answered a hundred different ways. For me, the first time I would have had an ending for that sentence would have been when I registered for and ran my first race. It was a VERY big deal. I had decided that a race would be a good way for me to set a running goal and push myself to a measurable achievement. However, I had never done anything remotely competitive that required athleticism from me. All of my competitive experience to that point had involved music. Keeping that in mind, I decided that my first race should be an un-timed, completely non-competitive event. Something relatively short like a 5K or less. Something where everyone was having a good time. Something like the Susan G. Komen Race For The Cure. I could push myself to run the whole race (a challenge for me, I promise) and raise money for a wonderful organization at the same time. I went on-line and got signed up for our local Komen race just six weeks before the race date.

To say I was nervous would be a grand understatement. This race was a huge leap out of my comfort zone. I have raised money plenty of times, though, so I really got into the fundraising portion of my goal and pushed the actual race to the back of my mind. I stayed on a regular
running schedule, but I ended up with pretty bad shin splints and bursitis in my left hip about a month out from the race. I kept running. Then three weeks pre-race I developed a stress fracture in my right tibia. I was so upset. I had set a goal, raised money and told everyone that I would be running the race. I had a choice to make. Either give up and quit the race or take time off the pavement and cross train during my down-time, hoping it would be enough to get me across the finish line before they started taking everything down!

Giving up is not an option. Ever. That is my life motto. I tell that to my kids all the time. This race gave me an opportunity to show them perseverance in action. Let me tell you, I absolutely HATED not running. I do not like the Elliptical, but I used it frequently during my off-pavement time. I went 17 straight days without stepping foot out my door to run. I bought calf compression sleeves and prayed I was healed enough to manage a three mile run.

When I left for the race that perfect, October morning none of the kids were awake yet. I ate my Nutrigrain bar in the peace of the early morning and left with a sleepy "Good Luck" from my husband. I got to the race site in downtown Lubbock much too early, but since I had no idea what to expect at a race, I thought I had better be early. I stood in the cold for almost an hour before race start. I watched other runners warming up and decided to copy some of what I saw them doing. This was scary. These people, a lot of them anyway, looked like real runners. I felt like a fraud. I did not look like a runner. I was in pretty good shape, but I did not look like a runner. I had been running for over three months, but I did not feel like a runner at all. Not standing in that crowd, with a high school track team standing to my left and a middle-aged track star on my right. I said a silent prayer that I would not look as foolish as I felt.

The gun went off and for a moment it was like watching a stampede. A teenager tripped near the front of the crowd and a mass of runners had to divert course while being bumped into from those behind them who did not know someone was down. The kid got back up as quickly as possible and everyone was free to run. There were people flying past me at ridiculous speeds, most of them young. I was passed by an entire high school baseball team! I ignored them to the best of my ability and focused on running a steady pace that would not further damage my leg. Before I knew it, mile one was past me and I was coming up to the speedster baseball team again. Most of them had slowed to a walk and were huffing and puffing their little hearts away, but they were laughing as well. They were watching middle-aged runners pass them by and thought it was hilarious they could not keep up with a bunch of adults. When a woman passed them who was clearly in the senior discount age group, one of the boys doubled over in a laughing fit and squeezed out, "Even Grandma can run faster than me!"

I almost made it without walking the course, but toward the end I admit that I did slow to walk for about one minute. Then the crowd was encouraging everyone to run harder. I watched a couple of friends encouraging another man to pick up his pace and I knew I had to run it in to the finish. I crossed the finish line in 32 minutes. I only know that because I had my watch to check the time. Not a great time, but not a terrible time for a beginner's first race.

What I took away from my first race was not anything tangible. Rather, I had a mental shift in my perception of myself. I stood at the finish line for quite a while watching the hundreds of runners who finished after me. What I realized as I reflected on my effort that morning was that I became a runner the moment I decided to run, and run, and run again. It was not the shoes or the watch or the special gear that made me a runner. Size, age, speed or distance do not make a runner. A person does not even have to understand negative splits or tempo runs to be a runner. What makes a person a runner is completely internal: heart, desire, spirit and a love of being a part of the greater world outside the confines of four walls. I had all of those standing in the chill that morning. Now when people ask me what I am doing to stay in shape, I proudly say, "I am a runner".