Ten Miles of Important People

I wrote this in my head today as I discovered a new four letter word
                                                                             ...W I N D.

“Ten miles. Who am I kidding? This is ridiculous," I murmured out loud as I headed out into the 40 degree rainy weather and planned to tackle I93 halfway to the next town and back. My husband and I figured out the distance in the car. I knew then that the miles in the car looked a lot more doable than they would seem by foot. When you think about it a mile is a very long way. One mile seems to stretch on forever as you squint to make out the landmark tree or post with the blue paper poster or the whatever that marks the distance you want to achieve that run. For me today, it was the NO TRESPASSING sign on the fence next to the gravel pit…lovely image…along the highway five miles outside my little Montana town. And of course…back again to accomplish the ten mile run my little training log tells me I should be doing. 10 miles…looks so benign in the Times New Roman font of the log. But I know better. Ten miles will seem to stretch on and on before me and worse yet…the first five miles before that NO TRESPASSING sign, I will be tempted to turn around and run back home sooner because of some inevitable excuse that will seem monumental at the time. It could be a plethora of things…my baby needs me…its been too long…my husband has work to get done…my bladder will literally burst…I don’t want my sore muscles to prevent me from running the rest of the week…that blister is not healing…I have to clean the house (that one has merit…its been awhile). Anyway, you get the idea. So now you know my mindset as I murmured those words in my first steps into the weather and out my front door.

Mile one: This mile is always a tough one for me. I tend to notice my aches and pains, my breathing is erratic and I’m nervous about the lack of bathrooms. All the miles are still ahead. Towards the end of mile one I seem to always snap out of it. Positive thoughts win out and I start to feel ready for mile two. I start to realize I’ve gotten past the hardest part...the getting out the door. Mile one was for my parents...I think to myself. For my Dad…who was intense and always had high expectations for us growing up. He set standards with little words. He worked hard and often. He seemed to always be striving for excellence yet carried an ability to stop everything for a crisis. He was and is my example for diligence and compassion. Set a goal and move in that direction with the belief it will happen if you really give it your all. For my Mom…who has never sat down in all the years I have known her. She is in constant motion and seems to float from thing to thing. Mile one is when you work the kinks out. She seems to be the person in my life that always is a reminder I need to work on mine. She doesn’t remind me with her words…but watching her makes me look inward. Watching her and hoping to be more like her makes me appreciate her and how she has loved me…unconditionally with all my faults. Mile one is the full of hope for the future…its putting all you got into working through the doubt and getting on with it. Mile one is for my parents.

Mile two: Mile two is usually awesome. Today was no exception. I felt good, strong and I was into my music. I had energy and a belief I was unstoppable. Little reminders I needed to try to be consistent and keep a pace were present and noted. Mile two was for my close friends…mirrors of me…good and bad flaws exposed and examined and overanalyzed. Close girlfriends really identify you. They know your crap and choose you anyway. It’s kind of like family except they can walk away but rarely do. Mile two is a commitment full of energy and self-love. I’m out here…I’m doing it…I’m loving it. My close friends are good motivators to be better, good teachers about myself and my chance to be strong and supportive for other people. Mile two is all about best intentions. Much like good friends, it is also about the choices you make to better yourself.

Mile three: For my oldest son. Mile three reminds me I’m out here for him. He will want to know how many miles I ran and how fast. He will light up when I tell him I’m doing my absolute best and having a good time along the way. This lesson is so timely for him. He is 6. His world is just starting to open up. Much like mile three…he is just starting to open up and let loose. He is in the world outside our safe and happy home. He has his own identity at school with his friends, teacher, coaches, lunch ladies, cross walk guides, librarians and bus drivers. He has just started baseball. He LOVES it and…he stinks. It’s something to watch. Takes him a good ten to twenty times to swing and connect. He cannot catch a ball but as he reminds me…he has “one heck of an arm.” He slides into the plate with no threat of an out. He’s largest interest on the field is throwing handfuls of sand into the atmosphere and practicing tagging people out even when he doesn’t have the ball. His smile is big. He loves it. He is the best baseball player in the world. He is giving it his all. Mile three is for him.

Mile four: Mile four is a bit tougher. It’s starting to be a challenge. It’s testing me over and over and I’m starting to wonder when it will end. Mile four is for my four year old girl. The child who will not let me leave the house without a full blown dramatic showdown. Her strength and determination are formidable. She was my surprise baby and continues to amaze me each day of her young life. She is smart and cunning. She is beautiful and manipulating. She is sweet and tricky. Complicated. Mile four plays with my will. Mile four knows my buttons. Mile four will show me what I’m made of. Much like my girl who manages to take my breath away and make me beam with pride in one moment and terrify me in the next…mile four was something to accomplish.

Mile five: I’m almost halfway done. What a relief! I can actually see the turnaround point. Elation! What a breath of fresh air. I CAN do this. Mile five is for my baby. My ten month old who was a planned surprise. We were done at two and then like a feather tickling the back of my neck…the notion of him was born. He needed to come…we weren’t complete without him. Mile five was such a surprise but I planned to get here. I planned to see the NO TRESPASSING sign and turn around. I knew I could do it. I just needed to put one foot in front of the other. My five was all the further I needed to go. Mile five was for you…baby boy. Mile five was a joy to welcome.

Mile six: I didn’t realize until mile six that I had not just a little wind at my back up until this point but I had a full blown mountain storm behind me. I turned around to face it and it took my breath away. I needed mile six to be easy so that I could face the last half of my run home. Mile six had to be for my husband. The one person in the universe that knows me the best and loves me anyway. The person that I draw the most strength from and the person that helps me find my way. Mile six was shocking, hilarious and maddening. Mile six lifted me out of my running shoes and made me yell at the top of my lungs…”is that all you got.” Mile six rooted me in my belief that I can actually stay committed to this running thing and see it through. I could literally and figuratively face the biggest challenges and succeed. Mile six was for my greatest partner in life. I love you Levi.

Mile seven: I have two older sisters. Both very different from me and as different as night and day from each other. But what we have in common is a shared history and the fact that they are the two people I will know the longest in my lifetime. They are my original team. They…by nature…are my guides. One would rather sit in the middle of a swamp on a log than run ten miles…the other would love to remind me that she can run faster and further than me any day of the week. Neither of those truths matter but I can relate to both. What matters is that mile seven reminds me of who I am and what I’ve come from. It was just four months ago I would have laughed in your face if you told me I’d be running a half marathon this summer. Mile seven reminded me how far I have come. Mile seven is for them…my two big sisters.

Mile eight: About this time, I thought to myself, “you’ve come this far…stop worrying about your discomfort.” Mile eight was hard, but close to home. Mile eight challenged me to finish. Mile eight was a good practice in mental stamina and determination to do good by others. Mile eight is for my past and present coaches in my life. We all have them. If you think about it, you will come up with them when you start to think about who you think highly of…who might have shown you something professionally or personally that taught you something about yourself. They showed you how far you could stretch yourself. Those people you wanted to impress or do right by. Outside of you family and friends…those people you were accountable to. For me… one of these is my old boss Geoff…who taught me to trust my gut and never tire when chasing a dream. My running coach for the last month, Jo Ruby, who has showed me what never ending positive energy can reward you with.  And for my first boss Judy, who taught me about loyalty and how it can go a long way. 

Mile nine: Me. I am mile nine. I’m almost there but want to quit. I think maybe I’ll just walk through the rest of my small town to the only stoplight and call it good. But mile nine reminds me I will have myself to be accountable to. I will know my own effort failed me towards the end. I surprise myself again and keep running towards the Welcome to Florence sign that marks the last mile of the longest run I’ve ever done in my life. What a thrill. Mile nine was for me.

Mile ten: Of course mile ten was for Hannah who is living in the group home with a much harder time making a list of ten important people in her life. I think of her face in the picture she sent me. I think of her life from the time she was born struggling against the toxins in her little body through the abuse and pain of her early years to the latest years of rejection and isolation. She is just 14 and my ounce of discomfort is nothing compared to her pounds of pain. She is still standing…even smiling in her picture. She is laughing in my memory of our run together. She is strong in consideration of history but weakened by experience. She is endangered and to be held with care. Mile ten brings with it all the emotion of accomplishment but knowing I have so many more miles to go. Mile ten is for Hannah.