Queen Bee

Two Saturdays ago, I ran my 4th half marathon.  You would think that it would be old hat by now -- and in some TINY ways it was -- but mostly, it was its own unique experience, that in MANY ways mirrored my life of the last eleven months.  I think there's a reason that running (and races) are so often used as a metaphor for our journey through life.  For me, every half marathon I've run has inspired a depth of introspection and self-reflection that has really enriched my perspective on life, and the Queen Bee was no exception. 

 

{Me and Sequoia before the race started}

This race was HARD.  Possibly the hardest I've ever run.  I picked this particular race a year ago -- while I was still pregnant -- as my comeback goal for after having Isaac.  My first big, postpartum race, with plenty of time to get back in running shape and be ready for it.  Or so I thought.  The thing is, that even though my DESIRE to do it had been there from the very beginning, the fact of the matter is that my training was less than ideal.  Yes, I put in the 12 weeks leading up to it, but there setbacks from almost the very beginning, such as jumping right into a training schedule after being on vacation for 3 weeks (and not having run in a couple months), there was a week I took completely off because I was sick, several weeks towards the end where I was slowed down (literally and figuratively) with shin splints and plantar fasciitis, and lots of runs that were cut short or halfway walked because of time constraints and discomfort.  And the extra heft of baby weight that I assumed would be gone by now certainly wasn't making anything easier.  ;)

 {Taking off at dawn is always a thrilling and inspiring beginning.}

Due to all these factors, I was extra nervous for the race day itself.  I was pretty sure I could complete the distance (even though our longest long run in preparation was only 10 miles, and that was several weeks earlier) because I had done it before and was hopeful I could do it again.  The weather -- as it always is, oddly -- was a major concern as well.  I hate being too hot or too cold when running, and you never REALLY know until the day dawns what it's going to be like.  Being prepared with layers did the trick, and in the end, the day was actually a GORGEOUS day for a run.  The race course itself was super hilly for the first half, fairly level for the second, and killed me with a couple of inclines right at the very end.  Believe it or not, it was the first half that was pretty awesome.  Despite the hills -- which I actually don't mind, because you get the fun and pay-off of going down after you've gone up -- we made pretty good time and the old neighborhoods and historic districts we were running through were beautiful.  Up until mile 7, I was feeling pretty good, minus a muscle cramp in my left calf that randomly popped up in the first couple minutes of running.  

The second half was when things got harder.  Mentally, it was harder to run on the flat route and physically, I was pretty spent after over an hour's worth of running at a pace that was at LEAST a minute faster per mile than any of our training runs.  By mile 10, I was pretty much done and I'm pretty sure I would have walked the entire rest of the way if I didn't have Sequoia by my side encouraging me and urging me on.  I had to tell myself, over and over and over again, to just keep moving forward, one foot in front of the other -- FORWARD, PRESSING FORWARD!!!  We walked a lot more than I would have liked for the last few miles, but we crossed the finish line in one piece!  I didn't PR, but my finish time was a LOT faster than I was predicting based on my training runs and general lack of preparation, and I was more than stoked and appreciative.

The aftermath, however, was brutal.  Once I crossed the finish line, got my goodies, and stopped moving forward, I had a hard time getting started again!  I've never been so physically incapacitated by a race as I was after this one, and I know it's because I gave it my all and then some.  After chugging some chocolate milk, doing some stretches, and chowing down on an early lunch, we headed home, tired, sore, and spent.  Or at least that's how I felt.  Hahaha.  I'm pretty sure Sequoia was in better shape than I was at the end of the day.  :) 

As I've reflected over the last couple of weeks on this experience, I keep coming back to the same question.  Why do I do this?  Why do I choose to do something that is so hard, takes so much time and effort, and makes me want to quit at so many points along the way?  If I take those last couple of sentences completely out of context, at face value alone, they still apply.  The last year has been hard.  The last THIRTEEN years have been hard.  Having a baby is a major transition.  Raising children is the most difficult thing I've ever done.  I feel inadequate on a regular basis.  My DESIRE to run this race of motherhood is there, but -- like the Queen Bee -- there have been many days in my life (especially this last year) when the circumstances surrounding my "training" have been far from ideal.  But you know what?  I haven't given up yet, and I don't plan on it.  It may take monumental effort some days to just keep pushing forward, but I know I can do it.  I've done it before and I'll do it again.  This life is my training ground for eternity, and I'm not going to just sit down on the side of the road and give up.  I can do this, because I can do hard things.  And I can do hard things because I am not alone --

"...for I will go before your face.  I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up." (D&C 84:88)

When I first got home that afternoon, I told Scott that this half marathon was the hardest thing I've ever done.  He quickly came back with a no way, you've had six children, but I maintained that no -- THIS was harder.  Interestingly enough, though, by Monday morning -- even with lingering remnants of calf strain and muscle soreness -- that stance was already starting to change.  The bad and the hard were already starting to grow soft and fuzzy in my memory and the exhilarating and triumphant were starting to take over.  I joked with a neighbor that it was a lot like childbirth.  The bad parts didn't seem as big a deal anymore, and all I was left with was the awesomeness.  Which, in a way, kind of sums up the answer to my why's.  Why do I do this?  Why do I choose to do something that is so hard, takes so much time and effort, and makes me want to quit at so many points along the way?  Because doing hard things throws the good things into starker relief.  And when all is said and done, it's the big picture that emerges, and it's beautiful.  :)