Running Home - Finding my Pace

I’ve had several running seasons in my adult life, some lasting just a couple of months and most recently for the last three years fully committed to the game. I have a close girlfriend whom I largely credit for this (shocker), if for no other reason just to creep on her Garmin haps and talk about new PRs. Can you even believe I’m using abbrevs like PR??? If you saw me at the 2017 ASPCA Dog Jog … you’d think that poor girl looked too young to be in full cardiac arrest after just a 5K. Isn’t that her family over there ordering beverlies and making plans for the afternoon? Should they be worried? Nah, they knew I came in with only premium expectations for my performance only to suffer the wrath of reality. You can’t eat leftover Chinese food the morning of a race you have done precisely no training for and expect to coast through on 8 minute miles, shooting for a sub 30 minute 5K. This was a real and absolutely serious bet I made with my family. Once again adding to the elephant’s memory of best hits :) I don’t even remember my time, I was too busy making sure I didn’t pass away - from embarrassment or heart failure. 

Running is one of those sports that people roll their eyes at and for good reason. As with any sport, some people are insufferable about it and make the most obnoxious comments that take every effort not to scoff out loud at - I was one of them! Someone I used to work with told our team that the best type of run was through the hills of southern France without using GPS … My eyeballs are still recovering from that roll. But those are the exceptions to the rule I’ve come to learn. The running community is mostly pretty normal, down to earth people who are incredibly supportive and always happy to offer feedback and suggestions to improve your game. But the real secret of running is that it’s YOUR game, even in a race! You’re running against other people hoping to get to the finish line as quickly as possible without injuring yourself or vomiting too many times (PR: sub 2 pukes per race). I won’t touch on the other bodily experiences that are absolutely normal but just as terrifying when you feel them come on. But as much as it’s a race against others, I've learned it's just as -if not more- about racing against yourself. That doesn’t make it any easier and sometimes requires a lot more faith and commitment than inspiration and motivation. Over the last three years, my running game has been a lot more about consistency and trust that what I’m doing will pay off at some point (I hoped!) than wanting to go for a run when I felt like it. “Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait with endurance” (Romans 8:24-25). 

In the summer of 2022, I found out I was pregnant with my second baby after only really trying for about 6 months. This was mildly surprising considering it took closer to a year to conceive our first child, so we were ecstatic and looking forward to two little ones that would be two years apart to the month. Unlike my first pregnancy though, this felt different as in- I wasn’t deathly nauseous every waking minute of the day and had a suspiciously light mind as well. Even though I tried to just enjoy it and thought maybe it was a boy (?!), my gut was telling me something was off. My worst fear materialized on July 29th when I started what would be my first miscarriage. It was the end of the first week at my new job and I couldn’t believe what was happening. Shock and denial I’m sure are normal parts of such an experience, so I went about my day forcing myself to believe what was happening could be normal and my doctor would confirm everything was fine at the appointment later that day. Sadly, I was wrong and the most compassionate and comforting woman would have to hold me like the baby I was losing and tell me the hard truth that there was no heartbeat. I’m not sure if there are proper words to describe that experience, but the best way I can tell this story is to be brief and assure you it was the worst pain of my entire life. After 8 weeks of hoping for the best, our second baby was called home to God and I was left with the pieces of trying to figure out what to do next. Worse yet- there wasn’t anything to figure out and I had to accept it just wasn’t our time. 

You remember the heroes I shared some quick, happy stories about before? These same blessings in the form of people were there to fiercely support me and offer whatever they could in the form of prayers, condolences, visits, and sometimes just comfortable silence during that time. What is there to say that hasn’t been said one billion times before to millions of other ladies and families who’ve gone through this? It didn’t matter. Every word, smile, hug and laugh was a soothing balm on what felt like an ever gushing wound. I’m not the first to have gone through this and I won’t be the last, but the men and women around me yet again made the difference between accepting and surviving this and the alternative. You might be thinking … what’s the alternative? Don’t think too hard, because your mind can take you to some scary places and begin to turn you against the very people who are there to protect and help heal you. But my body wasn’t done powning (sp?) me. Two cycles after we lost would have been our second little one, I had suffered two back to back chemical pregnancies which felt like salt on the wound - hence the ever gushing status. By then I started thinking … IS IT ME??? IT CANNOT BE??? GOD HELLO??? Not verbatim, but a very similar dialogue ensued in my mind for a long time following that third loss.  While this was an extremely difficult time, I still had my first daughter to take care of and my new job to learn the ropes for. I had to keep moving forward and trying again. But of course not without trying some off brand fertility supplements and Facebook suggestions that someone’s SIL tried and got pregnant the next night! All I had to show for that was weird colored #1s and 15 pounds added to the scale. Needless to say, I needed something healthier to add to my regimen. Maybe it was the dreaded final option - take a break and just heal my body. 

A couple of months later, I picked up a treadmill from my cousin with the intention to let it rot in the garage with the rest of my home gym equipment. But something was urging me to just start walking, see if I can’t get some steps in before the day starts and I can read my book in relative quiet. They talk about the bug when people start any activity or hobby … if you know me, I hate bugs. So I wasn’t jazzed about the idea even after a couple of weeks walking in the dark, cold garage constantly looking for - BUGS! I couldn’t trust my surroundings long enough to enjoy the wretched thing. But one day, as the story always goes, I picked up the pace by a couple notches and ended up doing three miles. I couldn’t believe it, the June had caught the bug. It happens when you least expect it! My story is just every cliche coming true I guess. If I am the star of my own mental soap opera, everything has to be cliche. So I started really running and before I knew it, I was running about 20 miles a week on average. And I LIKED IT! This was stunning and crazy, because as you recall my last race was actually a near death experience. Now I was dancing with death in my garage every morning blazing through my Kindle Unlimited smut TBR list. I was burning it up in more ways than one! Sorry to any of my male readers :) 

If you poll the running community at large, they would mostly look on in horror at enjoying running 5 miles on the dreadmill with no fresh air and only a book to keep you occupied. How can you even stand such a dim view let alone read while you’re running!? Not for me! It was my joy and I was hitting a decent mile time I was happy with. But of course- if being human means redemption, then you better believe I had to redeem myself on the race front. During one of my favorite past times of talking on the telephone with one of my oldest girlfriends, and I’m blessed to say we’ve only deepened that friendship over the years, encouraged me to sign up for a local race to see how I would fare this time around. By this time I hadn’t done a single run outside yet and by all accounts the only races worth paying real money for would be outdoors, no virtual races for this girlie. I can run on my treadmill for the cost of my KU subscription ($11.99 monthly). So I ditched the dogs for fowl and signed up for the Richmond Turkey Trot 10k. This was double or nothing! The morning of Thanksgiving 2022, I set out for my second Richmond race and this time at the finish line, I was all smiles and finished 2 minutes under my goal. Obviously I sent every member of my family the stats if only to prove I wasn’t in the med tent this time with the paramedics hovering nearby ;) But as always, I received nothing but abundant kudos and praise with encouragement to keep going. 

Maeve was pooped after cheering for 10 kilis.

Running gave me something to work toward and trust that the work I was doing would pay off. Every run was a chance to turn my mind off and read my book or enjoy the fresh air and scene around me. But as every runner - or anyone with an activity hobby - knows, not every run or workout goes well or feels good. Another cliche I’ve heard is that you never regret a workout. I think this is true for the accomplishment feeling and rush of endorphins (happy people don’t shoot their husbands), but also because it’s one more deposit into your game bank. On the days you feel heavy, slow, tired and the last thing in the world you want to do is run, but you do anyway, are the days that matter the most. Every run where my time was terrible, back to where I started and felt discouraged or angry, was necessary for me to see that it can’t be awesome all the time. This takes not only commitment and work, but trust and faith that when the time comes - your race pace will carry you across the finish line. I would see that come true even more two years later when I ante’d up from 10K to 10 miles, but more on that later. Even though running had given some renewed purpose and joy to my life, we were going on almost a year since our first loss. “Endure your trials as “discipline”, God treats you as sons. For what “son” is there whom his father does not discipline?” (Hebrews 12:7). Just as running takes discipline, faith that your work will allow you to see the fruits of your labor … our TTC (trying to conceive) journey would require the same principles with a lot more important fruits at the end. 

By June of 2023, we found out I was pregnant again and were cautiously optimistic. The other part of loss that is hard to talk about is- if you do conceive again, the crippling fear and anxiety that something bad will happen again. Those thoughts all but consumed my mind for the first 6 weeks and waiting until that first appointment to hopefully see the heartbeat was agonizing. I had to trust that God had a plan and hope that I had been listening to His wisdom, taking care of my body the best way I could and that we may be blessed with another child. At just shy of 7 weeks, we saw the heartbeat of our second baby and I was sobbing in the ultrasound room. That poor tech was just trying to make it to lunch and I was blubbering all over the paper table. Is that not what the paper is for??? To absorb my emotions??? The same woman who held me a year earlier would get the chance to hold me again, this time with a smile to share the incredible news that everything looked perfect. Even with hearing only positive news and exciting plans for the future, I was still guarded about what could happen. After all, I only know how to react in the extreme so, extremely nervous I was! If you’ve ever seen SATC the movie, I was in full on Charlotte York mode afraid to walk too briskly for fear of what might happen. But just as her girlfriends brought her back down to earth, my brood did the same for me and I was back on the ‘mill between bouts of horrific nausea. Who knew nausea could be so comforting?

But of course, eventually I had to give up the gig and take a break from running once I could no longer see my tootsies or make it 10 feet without having to go to the bathroom. Even on the treadmill at home, that wasn’t worth it and I was spending more time walking to and fro the facilities than I was walking for sport. But just because I couldn’t run didn’t mean I couldn’t just update to personality to being a walking girlie, so on February 4th after hitting mile 1 on our walk - my water broke and I had to hoof the full mile back to the house. I WAS READY. We welcomed our second daughter the next day and she was every bit the perfect pepper we were meant to have. But the story couldn’t be too smooth, as this postpartum experience was wholly different from my first daughter, in some ways easier and other ways new challenges (PPA is nasty skank betch). I was worried about keeping up with two children, getting my body back, making sure everyone’s needs were met while fighting against rage of being postpartum. Once again I would learn that humility comes in a gazillion forms and I didn’t have the luxury of getting out on the treadmill first thing in the morning before my daughter woke up. The pepper didn’t sleep, unlike the pea, so my days couldn’t be structured the same way anymore and I wouldn’t be able to hit that sweet spot mile time either. But I had a choice- I could give up on the game and say it just wasn’t conducive for my lifestyle anymore. OR, I could answer the telephone when that same girlfriend (GG-Garmin Girlfriend) called to check in on me and encourage me to just try for a mile a couple times a week. Hebrews chapter 12 a few verses later says, “So strengthen your drooping hands and your weak knees. Make straight paths for your feet, that what is lame may not be dislocated but healed” (12). What if I applied that to my life? What if I could see these obstacles and trials as God using these times in my life to teach me something, to persevere with something that brings joy even when it’s hard, to keep putting the work in when you can’t see the fruits just yet? Lame I may still be, but I’d rather be on the path to healing than dislocating. 

The teaser from earlier about making the jump from 10 killies to 10 millies was a wild one and something I wouldn’t have believed if someone tried telling me two years ago. Isn’t that always how it goes? Even Jesus tells us that when he performs his miracles or gives us a sign, we don’t believe it! The reality is, humans have to suffer and endure such trials in order to see the beauty and grace only He can give. Otherwise, we can’t appreciate the glory at the end of a long, dark, fraught and sometimes too treacherous tunnel. “Rejoice in hope, endure in affliction, persevere in prayer (Romans 12:12)”. What I’ve been able to hear from Him is to never stop praying, never stop running, never stop trying to bring life into the world … even if it almost kills me ;) Because the rewards are too wonderful, too unbelievable and most of all, unachievable without His mercy and love. How else could I have two beautiful little girls and a 9 minute mile for my easy pace??? If the ASPCA medics could see us now!

Army 10 miler. Feet on the ground. Head in the sky. Sun in my eyes.

Until next week, the rest is His & Henstory.