13.1

This is me pre-race, pre-how-did-I-not-know-this-course-was-so-hilly, pre-finish line hugs. I thought of putting my finish line pic on here instead but I think the pre-race pose is more appropriate for this post.

Part of me feels that I should say this race was one of the hardest things I've ever done, that it involved a lot of dig-deep moments of strength and resolve. But it didn't, so I won't lie. This race definitely hurt. The mile 4 hill? Definitely a blow to my ego. Realizing my pace was significantly slower thanks to said hills? Another moment of unhappiness. But, overall, this race was fun. I smiled a lot. I waved at spectators. I high-fived small children. I drank a lot of blue powerade.

Somewhere around the 6 mile point we were on a stretch of flat highway snaking through farmland, no cloud in the sky. I wondered if a friend would be tucked along the route somewhere to cheer me on and hoped it was at the mile 9 or 10 point. I thought, I know I can make it to 10 on my own, but it would be nice to have some cheerleading at that point. The race wasn't particularly spectator-friendly so I wasn't sure if my friends, Sharon and Jennea, would be able to find me in time for said rah-rah-Go-Rachels. But after a bit I stopped worrying about it because I realized what I'd just admitted to myself. I could get to 10 on my own. 10 miles, totally doable. 10 miles, tough but definitely not impossible. I, formerly fat Rachel, was completely unfazed by the thought of reaching 10 miles. The hard part, the get healthy part, the make-yourself-run part, was no longer something I needed handholding for. It was mine. 13.1 was a new stretch, a new distance, and cheerleading was definitely appreciated (I am blessed with dear ones), but I appreciated those hurrahs so much more knowing that they were unnecessary. They were beautifully extra. An undeserved, much loved, hug around my day.

I think this is what I love most about running. It is, by nature, wholly solitary. No advice from friends or seasoned marathoners or cheers from the side can negate the fact that it is my choice whether I stop or keep, keep, keep going. No amount of pre-race hugs can quiet the nerves, no number of encouraging text messages can determine my success. While the love and encouragment of friends and family is incredibly important, it is not what makes that decision. Support does not determine my outcome. Only me. Only I can convince myself that my quads don't hurt that bad and only I can push through mile 8 knowing I have 5 more to go.

And that's why the race was fun. Because I was blessed with cheerleaders I didn't have to depend on. Over the course of the race I realized I was no longer wondering if I would finish the race. The if had been decided in the months before. This race was my reward.

And 24 hours after completing my first half-marathon, I signed up for my first full. October 4th, here I come...