One Step at a Time

You were all so … right. It was fun. I loved it, and it brought me a feeling of exhileration that was very unique to me.

I slept OK on Saturday night, but I think this experience was a lot like giving birth. On Saturday night, I started “nesting” in a big way. I wanted all my stuff laid out perfectly, and I was freakishly obsessed with the kids not touching my stuff. I also started acting the way I did when I was in labour … I just wanted to be on my own. So, I did some dumb things. I had rented a chick flick that I’d already seen and liked — A Lot Like Love with Ashton Kutcher — to relax. I watched about 10 minutes, and then realized I was actually sleepy so I told my husband I was heading to bed. He was puzzled, as that’s unlike me, being the insomniac. Then I told him that I did not want my family (meaning him and kids) at the race. I said I’d built this up too much, and that it was starting to freak me out … I wanted to just do this in a low-key, just-for-me way. He looked disappointed in my decision, and he questioned me on it again in the morning, but he did honour it. Let’s face it, I’m puzzling to be married to sometimes. He’s used to it, bless him.

I got up at 5:30 a.m. and felt very well-rested. I ate my banana and PB toast and yogurt. I read my Bible a bit, mostly to feel like I was on God’s good side for this … lol. As I was driving to the race site, I realized, I have absolutely nothing to store my car keys in … no pockets, no coat. Duh. I’ve never had to carry keys before. For some reason that I’ll term Race Nervitis, that nearly sent me home to bed. Then I thought, I’ll hide the keys and hope for the best. Once I made that decision, I felt better.

The Rotary Run for Life is to raise awareness about suicide prevention. The package was full of info and resources and goodies, like all kinds of llovely loose teas from a tea shop. That made me feel better, somehow. I got my number — 645 — and found a classmate from the clinic, while I kept my eye open for my friend V. My classmate and I went to line-up for our timing chips, only to wait in line for 15 minutes to be told that there were no timing chips for 5kers as it was a run/walk. I was disappointed, especially when the volunteer flippantly said, “Time yourself, ladies. You have a watch.” Yeah, thanks, buddy. I’ve been timing myself for 8 months. Now I want you to time me. Okay, focus on the nice loose tea again, and admire the very cool hat with the route mapped right out on it.

V showed up, and we watched someone on stage leading an aerobic-type warmup. It is at that moment that I realized V and I are very compatible to be at races together. We both were clearly not in the mood for the Jane Fonda look-alike on the stage, and opted to run around a bit outside instead. We watched the 1/2 marathoners take off, and then the 10kers. In that group, I saw the dad and sister of the RCMP officer that we know who was killed earlier this year. That touched me, to see them doing this together.

Oh. I should mention that upon arriving at the race site, I peed about 12 times. Maybe I had a subconscious fear of having to use the bathroom during a 5k, I dunno. Maybe it was just chillier than I expected at 8 a.m., and the bathroom was clearly the warmest place. Oh well.

Then we took off. V and I stuck together during the first kilometre, and then she pulled ahead to do her thing. I looked around at all of the walkers and runners and my biggest thought at this point was: Here I am. I am here. I repeated that in my head for a long, long time. I had started out fast, and I knew it. My instructor ran with me for a bit, and reminded me to pace myself. Bless her. She then pulled out to wait for others in the class.

I ran a nice steady pace to the 3k mark, and then took a brief walk break. Instructor then ran with me for a bit again, and she said, “Did you ever think you’d be doing this, 10 weeks ago?” I had to chew my lip so as not to cry. I think I mumbled, “Shut up, I don’t want to cry… you have no idea.” She said, “But I do. And you’re doing this now, and you’re doing phenomenally.”

One of my favorite parts was going through the water stations. I felt like a freaking rock star, what with all of the cheering!?!?! It was SO inspiring. Everything I’ve ever read from you all about the wonderful volunteers came true in that moment.

And then there was this other moment, at about the 4k mark. Along the route, people had decorated signboards dedicated to their love ones that they’d lost to suicide. Truth be told, I tried not to read them too much. I am an easy crier, and I wanted to run, not cry. I ran by a signboard on the way in, and it was dedicated to “Ronnie.” It said simply: Ronnie was a husband, a dad, a hard worker, a son, a brother. And Ronnie was sad. On the way back to the finish, I passed it again. I assumed the lady standing there was a volunteer, and by this time I was comfortable with all of the cheering, so I wasn’t surprised that she was cheering for runners. But when I passed her, with a couple of other ladies, she said, “Thanks for running this for my Ronnie.” Oh my. Then my mind really started going. I thought, this woman had to bury her husband, who chose to die. Now THAT is beyond hard. The whole race came into perspective for me. I think what I’m doing is hard, and I’m not discounting my effort, because it was hard for me. But it’s a drop in the bucket compared to Ronnie’s wife’s deal. I chose to do this, and I am going to do this well.

At that moment, we were about half a kilometre from the finish. A fellow that Kevin works with, an extremely fit guy who bikes 40k just for fun, came up beside me. Yes, he was doing the 10k in the exact time of my 5k. (In hindsight, I thought, this is what it would be like to run with Jeff ….) He recognized me, or maybe stopped to look to see if I was okay with all of the laboured breathing … lol. He said, “C’mon, let’s bring it home hard!” So I did. I ran that part HARD. Harder than I’ve ever ran in my life. It’s just what I wanted to do, because after, I wanted to feel like I’d busted myself for this. I thought of Jack, and how he is busting his butt for his marathon, and I was inspired. I thought of many race reports from different RBFers that I’ve read, that have brought me to tears.

Crossing the finish, and hearing my name, was nothing short of sweet.
Hugging V. after was sweet.
Getting one of the beautiful bronze medallions, inscribed on the back with the name of a suicide victim: “Tim H. 1973-2003.” That was sweet.

My time? According to me and the Forerunner, it was 38:15. That’s so unofficial, of course. But it really didn’t matter to me. No, I shouldn’t type that. I truly did want to be under 40 minutes, although I wouldn’t say it outloud. At the end though, I did it, and I felt I did it well.

Watching runners come in crying, because they’d ran for a loved one, was incredible.

Oh … and Jon? The food after…. wowza! We, and other spectators, were welcomed with a full breakfast: sausage, pancakes, fruit plates, scrambled eggs, muffins, you name it. The coffee was by Second Cup, which made me happy. And, I won a door prize: a water bottle and holder and t-shirt from World Gym.

It was an awesome experience, and I am so tired that I can’t think of a clever way to end this oh-so-lengthy race report. So I’ll just say a HUGE thanks to everyone who helped calm my nerves during this whole process.