This past Saturday I raced in my 7th Soldier Field 10 Miler. Like last year, this one was preceded by a lot of doubt. For the past few months, I've been battling a knee injury, but thanks to a wonderful physical therapist, I felt as if I had turned a corner and the pain was no longer an issue. The week prior to the race, though, the hot weather loomed large and forecasted temperatures in the upper 80's caused me great concern.
I took the day off on Friday to have lunch with a dear friend I've known for over 20 years who I haven't seen in a while. Her office is quite far from mine which makes workday lunchtimes hard and I really missed her. As soon as I saw her, I sensed that something was wrong. She told me that she has been battling cancer and-- get this-- didn't want to tell too many people so as to not burden them with the news. I was staggered and in shock. She talked about it rather calmly and with the positive outlook that is so typical of her. We hugged long and hard as we departed at Union Station.
Saturday morning dawned and the predicted weather held off; the day was cool, windy and overcast. While waiting for Heena and Kimmy, John suddenly noticed that our cat Sheila was bleeding. She, too, has been battling cancer. He instantaneously decided to forgo the race and take her to the vet. I told him I would also not run the race and go with them. By then, Kimmy and Heena were at the door. My thoughts were whirling. John urged me to go to the race and be with my friends as a distraction. The cat wasn't in distress and the situation didn't seem immediately grave so I decided to go forward with the run.
Needless to say, though, my thoughts were troubled as I waited for the race to begin, shivering in the wind. This was way bigger than running. Due to the large number of participants, the race start was staggered so it was almost 45 minutes before my group approached the start line.
To be indelicate, I had to pee. Really bad. But I decided against making a last-minute mad dash for the port-a-potty because I didn't want to have trouble getting back to the start area. By mile 1.5, though, it was clear that I'd have to make a detour. Of course, the lines were long and I glanced anxiously at my watch. Over six minutes lost.
By the time I hit mile 2, I was extremely off pace to PR or to even meet the lower expectation I was carrying, to finish the race in under two hours. I felt beaten and discouraged. I wanted to give up... to give in to the distractions I had and to just walk to the finish line. It was such an empty feeling.
Then I looked at all of the people around me running and having a good time. I felt the cool wind surround me on the beautiful lakefront. I thought about how hard I had fought the knee injury just to get to the start line. I thought of my friend and my cat who were at that moment fighting a battle that made any negativity I was feeling pale in comparison.
At that moment, I decided to not fail. I stepped up the pace and ran my heart out for the last 8 miles. No, nothing magical happened. I did not PR. Choirs of angels did not sing in my ear. But I dug deep for an inner strength and I found it. I found it for myself, and my friend and my cat. Come to think of it, I guess that is pretty magical.
Update - Sheila has a wound on her leg-- bad enough, but thankfully not as bad as we had feared. And I heard from my friend today. She ended her email with the following words, "thank you for all your support and friendship. It proves how much is right and how very little is wrong."
Words to live by.
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