By 
Today I ran a race, earned a medal, and ate a huge slice of humble pie.
I was sold on the Hotlanta Half Marathon as soon as I saw the medal. I am a bling queen. I love collecting medals, t-shirts, and other race swag. The Hotlanta Half medal was glimmering, gaudy, and gorgeous!
My only goal was to get to the finish line to snag that bling. The magnetic effect of the medal was almost enough to make me forget how out of shape I am. Almost.
My training over the past year has been sporadic at best. A series of setbacks required me to stop and start training here and there. Injuries, illnesses, personal commitments, professional obligations, weather, and lack of motivation all seemed like valid reasons to put off training. If I’m being completely honest, my “reasons” turned into convenient excuses. The longer I stayed off the pavement, the harder and less appealing it became to get back out there.
So, I decided that The Hotlanta Half would be my big comeback. If I signed up for the race, I had to train. Unfortunately, the fitness fire that I tried to light burned out pretty quickly. Over the 12-week training period, I averaged a mere 9.5 miles of running per week. But even at my minimal level of cardio fitness, I knew I could cover the 13.1-mile race distance. I was also hopeful that my muscle memory from the previous year would magically kick in.
I was optimistic at the start line. This morning was overcast and unseasonably cool for Atlanta and I was thankful for that. The weather here can be nasty in the summertime. Signing up for a June race could mean plodding through humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife. But not today. While my conditioning is mediocre at best, at least Mother Nature had my back.
With my plucky attitude and high expectations for a great race, I started pretty strong. Be smart. Pace yourself, I thought. I felt good for the first half of the race, bopping along to my Spotify playlist. The spectators along the route all seemed to take part in my personal running dance party.
The second half of the race took a turn. Challenging Georgia inclines quickly began to take their toll. I gritted my teeth and fought with all my might, but the hills in Piedmont Park – among other areas of the course – were just plain disrespectful.
By mile ten, my breathing was labored, my leg muscles were zapped, and I was deeply regretting my training hiatus. This is when I began my intervals of running and walking – something I have never done during an event.
I started to feel sorry for myself. How much time had I wasted over the past year? How had I let my fitness level drop so drastically? How much fitness had I actually lost? Could I ever get it back as a member of the Over 40 Club?
All of these insecurities weighed me down. My legs were jelly and my feet were cement blocks. It was all I could do to stumble over the finish line 20 minutes slower than my goal pace. I was done. I wanted my bling and I wanted to go home to sulk in peace.
Then, something profound happened.
Another racer approached me and said, “You ran a great race. I followed you the entire time. Thank you.”
I was so dumbfounded, I almost forgot how to speak. Fortunately, my manners prevailed. “Thanks! Congrats on running a great race yourself!”, I flashed an automatic smile.
As I watched her walk away, I felt sheepish. And ungracious. And stupid.
I learned a lesson today. No matter how grim things appear or how painful my struggle may feel, someone could be encouraged by me, depending on me, or following my example. My actions could make a difference to someone – whether or not I realize they are watching me, listening to me, or pacing just behind me. This is especially relevant to me as a mother of a son who is always watching. Quitting is not an option. Beast Mode has to be my default setting in every facet of my life, from running, to working, to navigating relationships, and beyond.
Today was also a reminder about perspective. Sometimes we have to be driven to our knees to remember to be thankful that we can stand…and walk…and run. Regardless of my pace, I crossed the finish line and I helped another runner in the process. Rather than beating myself up during the race, I should have enjoyed it and focused on living every moment with gratitude.
I forgot for a moment, but I thank God for the reality check I got from a stranger.
Without even realizing it, I helped that other runner who was silently following in my footsteps the entire time. Had I been in peek condition, the other racer would not have been in my orbit, I would not have inadvertently been her pacer, and I may have just floated across the finish line on my ego and none the wiser.
I am overjoyed that I helped someone today, but I wish I could tell her that she helped me even more. I am forever grateful for the invaluable lesson in humility.
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