This is a bit late in coming, but it's taken me a bit of time to process and now I think I can do it justice in the written word.
In fall 2004 I started running because it helped me to focus my energy into something other than what was going on in my personal life. When I was running roads my head was so focused on putting on foot in front of the other that it didn't have time to think about other stuff. Ultimately it got me through many days. I set my sights on running a race in November 2004, but I never did. The race date get getting pushed back: lack of time, fear, uncertainty; so many excuses but none of them carrying much weight now that I look back on it. I just wasn't ready for some reason.
Last fall I found myself in much the same position. Reeling once again I started running again, more sporadically this time, but doing it all the same. Pushing my body through cold mornings and tears but wanting to feel something other than pain again. At the turn of the year I made that decision, and that's all it took, that I was going to finally run the race I'd promised myself two years ago. I chose the Shamrock Run in Portland, taking place March 11th this year, because of it's reputation as being a relaxed race where people feel comfortable at walking anytime during the race and the point of the race is have fun. Building up to the race I knew the work that I had to put in, and I did, however I hadn't managed to run the 5k that I would be running race day.
The day before, my mother and I stayed the night in Portland to avoid traffic issues and our hotel was half a block from the start line so we were assured easy access.
I didn't sleep much the night before, and it's probably the understatement of the year to say that I was nervous that morning. I got up at 5.30 for a 7.45 start time, typical in my family though. I layed on the floor for awhile, stretching and doing some yoga to feel out how my legs were doing. They were in for a long morning but they felt fine. When I went to pick up my race packet with my number it was surprisingly warm, a good sign for me.
At the starting line I got a hug from my mother and then filed down the way with the other runners to choose my starting spot. I kept moving my legs, trying to settle some of the butterflies in my stomach. Before leaving her my mother said, "Just do it like you always do, one foot in front of the other." Her words kept scrolling through my mind, just one foot in front of the other. It seemed so simple at that moment.
I remember hearing the starting call, but really what I felt was the movement of the other runners around me. We all began moving and suddenly there was no turning back. It was time for me to go and whatever uncertainty I had been feeling was pushed aside as my mind took over to focus me on the task ahead. The actual gut of the race.
I was running with my pod, having a preselected list of music placed at strategic intervals to help me find whatever strength I would need. At the beginning I turned my eyes forward, Kelly Clarkson telling me to spread wings and fly away. Cheesy I know, but it was the same song I listened to over and over in 2004 when I couldn't even remember who I was or what I was doing in life. I encountered a long push up a hill through downtown Portland but in the middle when I felt my legs giving out and all I was thinking in my head was that line from Finding Nemo, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...", John Rzeznik came in my ears and 'Feel the Silence' drove me on and up to the top. I coasted down the hill back to the Naito Parkway after 2 miles where in the distance, 1.2 miles away, I could see the banner of the finish line. Tom Jones kept telling me I was a sexbomb as my mind became focused solely on that banner.
I flipped back to the Goo Goo Dolls again, and a strange thing happened to me in that last mile. My mind quieted and I felt as if my legs could have gone on longer. I wanted to go longer.
I picked up some speed, 'Stay With You' pumping through my veins, and I passed several people on my last glide in. Then suddenly it was over. And I didn't want it to be. I wanted to stay in that zone where I felt completely alive again. I hadn't felt that for months, and I wanted more.
It took me 40 minutes to go 5k, but in retrospect I didn't notice the time as much. It went by much to fast, and when it was over, I felt like I'd finally kept that promise I had made to myself two and a half years earlier, I had finally put that part of my life to rest and could move forward. And I was excited for the movement.
t all began yesterday morning on the island. Correction, on the RAIN SOAKED island. After a day and night of rain, Kirk, Jerry, and I set out for Avalon in the giant F-250 truck in hopes that we would be able to power through any mud that we encountered. Well, we powered, for the most part, and made it so far as to the first big hill on the airport road before we got stuck. But we just didn't get stuck, we got rooted down in the ruts of the ankle deep mud. Not to mention trying to power up the road going sideways throwing the guck everywhere. We were afraid that we would either run off the side of the road, kick up a rock into the under carriage of the car, or just sticking it to the road. As I mentioned to Kirk, I think we all found a little bit of God that morning. 
To get out of the ditch, we had to push the back end of the truck back up onto the road and then Jerry stood on the backend while Kirk coasted us to a point where we could turn around and head along the middle ranch road. A bit more slipping and prayers and we finally made it into Avalon, three hours after initially leaving camp and with 10 minutes to spare before our boat left. Forget that Kirk and I were pretty much covered in mud and had to ransack the ticket office and run down the ramps of the dock. Yeah, a sight to see for sure. 
