For that first time my Dad brought me along on his two-mile loop around our neighborhood, I trade my jeans for my running shorts and my gam-tastic heels for my running shoes.
For every time that I've scored a point in ultimate frisbee because I could simply outlast the competition, I push myself through that first, hardest mile.
For every time my running buddy, Zach has convinced me that the weather's not that bad and that perhaps we really should do that five miles I planned,
For the small handful of Seattle's sunny days, and for all of those torrential downpours I've conquered, and for every time I've swallowed my absolute hatred for wind, and for every time I've allowed it to beat me down,
For every single last exhausting hill that this city throws at me,
For every time that I've looked in the mirror and felt like crying from disappointment at my reflection and for every time I've taken pride in my muscles,
For all the people who make me feel unwanted,
For all the songs I discovered during a long route without a playlist,
For every time I fell for a boy and every time my heart's been broken,
For the year I spent rehabilitating my back and the physical therapist who told me I'd probably never run again,
For everyone I love so much who will be waiting for me at the finish line,
For the pain and for the joy that comes with the freedom of moving my body, and for the love of this sport,
For me,
I run.
FOr a variety of reasons, between weather and wind and bad luck with colds and bacteria, this has been the most difficult training season of my life. I'm just a few short days away from the San Diego half-marathon. When I set out my training schedule, I was so set that I'd force a personal best out of myself because my parents, my sister and her boyfriend and my boyfriend will all be at the finish line. I wanted to give them my best. I effectively lost weeks 9 and 10 of my 12-week schedule to illness, and I know I will not have fully recovered. Though I completed a 12.5 mile run on Saturday, my confidence in my ability to push through the fatigue is fading and I am less convinced that I can fight that pathetic, sad voice in the back of my head that tells me to give up.
I need to change my approach for this race. I cannot run to beat myself this time - I need to run to enjoy it. Regardless of my time, my people will still cheer for me and they will still love me. I'll run for the love of it, because, really, isn't that what it's supposed to be about?
