It is longer than I think

And old draft from 2012.

So. I did this thing.

13.1 miles

Running.

My plan: to run the whole way and not stop until the finish line.

My treat: seeing my little boy seeing his old mom doing something she didn’t think was possible.

So. We go.

Crazy flight. 11 hours. Lots of training. I could run SIX MINUTES without stopping when I started.

Wanting to finish in 3 hours.

So. We lose a tooth. Sebastian does. Over dinner the first night. He says, “If this is any indication of the days ahead…”  Yes. He did say that. Because the kid parrots all the silly ways I talk about red lights, drunken window tappers in the Tenderloin or spilled milk on his favorite shirt at breakfast.

So. We try to relax. I get hives. Quarter size. I lost count at 13. Not because I can’t count but I sort of lost interest. I realized I was about to be one big giant postule of yuck. Luckily we had a nurse nearby. Gave me Benadryl. I poodled most of the night worrying about my race. Fret fret fret.

I shifted my focus to the moment I crossed the finish line. My son talking about it and telling me he just couldn’t wait to see me finish. It is what kept me going in training: knowing that I was going to have this moment with my son. I wanted him to see that discipline is a good thing…that all the training was worth it.

I hired a sitter to be with Sebastian while I ran. I let her know that the most important thing for me is that he was at the finish line. I gave her the possible times. I could have asked friends to be with him. Yet my desire to never tread on another trumped good sense. I hired a gal.

I ran. 3 laps. 13 ish miles. Dear friends cheering me as I struggled to keep running. I did. When I crossed that finish line I wanted to be able to tell my son “I DID IT”- that thing I didn’t think possible.

The last mile I broke down. Almost gave up. Luckily a stranger Scott, limping on the side of the path, told me to keep going and not give up. He ran with me the last mile… talking all the way. He was magic.

I see the finish line…and… not my son.

Not my son.

It seems the sitter had lost track of time. He wasn’t there. Other friends were. So many of them. Two gave me flowers. And that moment was so sad for me.

I saw him in the distance and he ran to me. He was so angry that I had crossed the finish line without him. The sitter apologizing for losing track of time. Then, she admitted that she just didn’t believe that I could finish my first half in 2.5 hours. She sort of apologized but not really.

Life is like this sometimes. We have these expectations that can make us sad.

What did I learn from this? That maybe I need to learn to ask those close to me to help.

Or maybe

The lesson is that Sebastian, it is the small moments that matter most. The times you were on the bike next to me while I learned how to run. The finish line, feh. That is only for us if we think FINISHING and the MEDAL is what makes a life.

I don’t. You?

 

 

 


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