Are races only for athletes? Who is the REAL winner in an, Ironman
Triathlon, Marathon, a 10K or 5K run? Is the lone athlete who crosses the finish
line first and takes home the trophy the only winner or do those who endure the
miles and complete the race against the obstacles also win? What a change in perspective I have
experienced over the years! Ecclesiastes 9:11 (NASB) says: “I again saw under the sun that
the race is not to the swift and the battle is not to the warriors, and neither
is bread to the wise nor wealth to the discerning nor favor to men of ability;
for time and chance overtake them all.”
Until the late 1990’s, I had never worn racing numbers on my
shirt. Entering a race wasn’t even in my
frame of reference. I was not gifted
with athletic ability, in fact just the opposite. However, I was blessed with determination,
endurance, and a great deal of just plain stubbornness in vowing not be let my
temporarily setbacks turn into failures.
I was inspired by Oprah Winfrey’s story about training and running her
first Marathon, but this blog is not about me achieving a 26.2 (which I
actually fantasized about after I read Oprah’s story.) Rather what I write was inspired by
what I learned about myself during the pursuit of fitness and the camaraderie
of veteran athletes.
After nearly 10 months of working with a personal trainer who
stressed the importance of diet, good choices and sound nutrition, my body
slowly started to respond after years of neglect. I learned from
my trainer that a great work ethic of consistent, intense cardio and weight
training had a critical impact on peak performance at any level of fitness. As I began to look for fitness challenges
outside of the gym environment, the posters began showing up for
registration for Lexington’s annual July 4th Bluegrass 10,000 race. While
I knew I wasn’t physically in shape to actually run, I had made such wonderful
friends at the gym who were running
that I decided to enter the race as a walker.
My daughter (& gym buddy) and I entered, along with many of our gym
friends. I mentioned that I was
considering the race only casually to my trainer, who probably never imagined I
was serious. Who on Earth does a 10K
before they ever do a 5K? My daughter
and I! We began asking for the advice of
a seasoned Boston Marathon runner (our spinning class instructor) regarding
what we should eat and drink the day and evening before the “race.”
So here we were on the dawn of race morning with our brand
new anti-blister socks (a rookie mistake).
As the crowds gathered in, the excitement escalated and the adrenaline
kicked in, I couldn’t believe that I was actually going to do this! The runners gathered in; the fastest and most
competitive were at the front of the pack.
They pressed in all around me and I could feel my heart racing before
the real race even started. Here I was,
an asthmatic carrying 80 extra pounds at the age of 48 and running on knees that
were 23 degrees out of proper alignment (valgus deformity), but nonetheless
determined that I was going to finish this race no matter what.
The loud bang signaling the opening of the race exploded
over the bustle of the crowd and the real
runners—like thoroughbred horses out of the starting gate--charged out ahead
of the pack. Runners waved to crews of
our local TV stations as they filmed the opening of the race from an overpass
on Main Street. As long as I live I will
never forget what that felt like! I can
feel the emotion surge even as I write about that memory of my very first race.
In the beginning, I was hindered by the crowd, yet walking
at a very brisk pace, weaving in and out to pass those moving slower, while the
faster runners were weaving around me. Runners
pushing children in strollers were passing me up. I remember feeling both annoyed and
insulted. As the initial wave of runners
had gone, the crowds thinned and there was a little more room to breathe. Spectators were lined up on either side of
the streets cheering and clapping as we passed by. I was caught up in the momentum of those who
were actually running, which in turn caused me to move at a pace faster than
this body was trained to move. My heart
was pounding, I became short of breath, almost gasping as I began to perspire
profusely. We hadn’t even made our first
turn off Main Street!
At that moment, my mind scrolled back to the memory of Field
Day on the last day of school when I was in 4th grade. It was the very first race I ever ran. I was always the chubby kid who was chosen last
when teams were being chosen. On that
day, kids were teaming up in pairs to do a sack race on the playground. I was the next one up to run. I had no desire to face the defeat I expected
was sure to occur.
After much coaching by
the Nuns at the Catholic School where I attended, I relented and stepped into
that big burlap sack. The bell sounded
and the race started. I was easily left
behind until my worthy opponent, trying to jump faster than the sack would
allow, stumbled and fell. I caught up. The crowds yelled louder. The Nuns cheered and called out my name “Come
on, Pam! Keep going!” I pushed harder. My heart raced and pounded harder. I could feel my face getting hotter and
hotter. My opponent passed me again….and
oops! Down he fell again! This time I wasn’t very far from the finish
line. The crowd got even louder! This time it was more than the Nuns yelling,
it was also my classmates cheering “Come on, Pam! You’re almost there!” I was still jumping, but this time my heart
was beating so fast, it felt like it was going to explode in my chest. I was feeling faint and for the first time in
my life, I actually listened to my body. I think I would probably have
collapsed if I had continued at that pace
trying to run ahead of my own physical ability.
At that moment, I did something that had haunted me
throughout my life. I stopped. I took myself out
of the race. I threw in the grade school
version of the proverbial towel. No one
defeated me that day, I simply quit and allowed my opponent to win. I listened to my own body with great remorse
and feelings of guilt. Still I learned
some valuable lessons from that experience:
Don’t try to race ahead of your own ability and never, ever just quit. This applies to all areas of life. My opponent likewise taught me a
lesson. Keep getting back up when you
get knocked off your feet in life.
Eventually you will reap a reward if you simply do not quit.
After mentally returning to the present moment, I began to I
listen to my body. I continued to keep
up my own steady pace and learned to
control my breathing. I was focused on not exceeding my own limitations so as
not to trigger an asthma attack. By the
time I passed the first mile marker of the race, I was aware of blisters
forming on my feet. I could feel them
enlarging with every passing step. My
pace slowed even more. My daughter, who
had been ahead of me all along the course began to slow and even began talking
to me over her shoulder. Sure enough, she also had developed blisters. At some point in that 6.2 mile race, it
became apparent to me that I just needed to overcome the memory of that sack
race of long ago and F-I-N-I-S-H my own race at my own pace.
I passed a wave of applauding spectators. What wonderful encouragement! I was grateful to those volunteers who stepped
out along the race route and offered runners cups of water. I was conflicted as those runners in front of
me drank, then threw those cups on the asphalt as they ran on in total
disregard of the mess they were leaving for someone else to clean up. Litterers!
I thought as I approached the debris of all those carelessly tossed
empty cups. Then I too momentarily
relinquished my opposition to littering and became one of them (at least for
race day). J
The route looped around and I met those inbound runners on
the opposite site of the route who were already on the return leg of the race
course. We cheered and applauded and
encouraged each other as we passed. You
have to actually be part of something to experience that feeling. You have to be a participator. No spectator could ever know how it feels to
be running a race together, even though each runner ultimately runs his/her own
race.
I continued to feel those blisters getting larger and larger
as the miles passed. I remembered the
day I took myself out of that sack race, but I was not going to allow a few blisters to defeat me this time! I was determined to cross that finish line if
I had to crawl across. By the 5th
mile, my daughter and I had arrived at the same conclusion. Our goals were to simply finish what we’d
started and we were going to do it together.
Our friends who were the experienced Marathon runners had,
by this time long since crossed the finish line, rested briefly and stood there
watching and waiting on us to come into view.
Something amazing happened that day that I never knew happened with
runners. Two of our Marathon-running “angels”
ran out to meet us; one ran on either side as our “Wing Men.” At that last exhausting home stretch to the
finish line, they appeared. They had
literally run their race but
then came to run alongside my daughter and I to encourage us as we struggled
through the very half mile of our
race. In my exhaustion, I choked up with emotion but
I didn’t have the breath to spare for conversation.
FINALLY I could see the finish line in sight! People were cheering louder and louder as the
route bottlenecked down to a single lane and each runner’s number was recorded
with their official finish time. There
were a multitude of high 5’s and sweaty hugs that followed. I didn’t need a trophy. I had overcome a childhood defeat in exchange
for a victory that day. My “trophies”
were two large blood-filled blisters the size of half dollars on the balls of
both feet and I showed them off with pride.
No Marathon runner at that race could ever remember seeing or having
blisters that large. There was some
degree of satisfaction in that odd superlative as I observed their grimacing
faces. Lucky me! J I was both starter and F-I-N-I-S-H-E-R that
day. What an Independence Day to
remember!
Energy is key to peak performance at any age or level of
fitness. Striving and achieving one
major fitness goal inspires us to reach still higher. None of this can be achieved without proper
nutrition. REAL NUTRITION. I
remember my own recovery time after that first big race. Remember there’s a good deal of tearing down
after an athletic event. Sometimes there
are minor injuries with ensuing inflammation that limit mobility and the
resumption of training. How would it help you meet your training goals if you
could shorten your recovery time after an intense workout, decrease
inflammation and have the energy to begin rebuilding toward your next fitness
goals sooner? Many well known athletes
have learned they can achieve that competitive fitness edge through
plant-based, 100% absorbable and bio-available nutrition. Getting the right
nutrition on a consistent basis can be life changing. It was for me. To learn more, visit my website link below.
Pam Baker, RN
notmywil@gmail.com
The same year at the Thoroughbred 5K on Thanksgiving Day. I am #242; our friend Shelley is #473 and my daughter is #241. We RAN all the way! :-)
One of my proudest moments, too. Thanks for the reminder, Mom.
ReplyDelete