back in blue for the Cowtown 1/2 Marathon

Spoiler, that photos is 6 years old.  Tomorrow, I hop on a plane to fly down to Dallas for my first 1/2 marathon since 2014, and I’m ok admitting that I’m not super prepared.  A friend once told me, years ago, that as we age we start every conversation with an organ recital, and when I think of this whole back to running story, I shrug and chuckle a little at my own organ recital. 

Let’s speed through this.

Since 2014, I’ve gained 20 lbs, had a weird neurological thing, underwent a few angiograms, blew a stitch in my femoral artery (my ability to harm myself on accident is truly unique), developed rheumatoid arthritis, Raynaud’s, and asthma, and generally failed to stay on top of my health (which totally tanked my mental health).  I assumed my running days were over, but a fantastic medical team and the right treatment plan turned things around in 2020. 

I’m going to blame wear blue: run to remember and the Polar Plunge.

It’s hard to work for an inspirational running group and avoid the running bug.  I’ve always loved wear blue, and joining the national staff in 2020 reintroduced me to the stories, the people, and the heart behind this organization dedicated to honoring the sacrifice of the American military and the families and friends left behind. The itch settled in, and I announced my goal to run the Cowtown 1/2 after the wear blue Polar Plunge.  The 35 degree water likely suspended my brain’s computing power, but I went ahead and registered within hours.

My training was subpar and different.

Like a true amateur, I gave myself 7 weeks to go from jogging the occasional 2 miles to running 13.1. Sure, I laced up, got out 2 to 3 times a week, and managed to work my way up to a 9 mile run, but my overall miles were low.  Training no longer fit my strong desire for things to be scheduled, structured, timely, and perfect.  Some days I was able to run as planned, some days I woke up stiff and aching and had to rearrange my day to squeeze in a run after my joints loosened (turns out, I’m terrible at this and ended up skipping days instead), and I found that I needed a whole week to fully recover from a long run.  The process forced me to slow down and evaluate before committing to any run.  It was painful and cut my miles, but I like to think that the need to slow down and take stock is a lesson that I’m taking to other parts of my life.

I’m happy to just move. 

It’s been weird.  I didn’t give myself enough time to prepare, I overestimated my body, I became aquainted with (some) humility, I learned to listen, and I was reminded that I’m much happier when I’m running regularly.  I’m physically nowhere near as strong as I was 6 years ago, but I’m mentally tougher.  It feels like the two almost (hopefully) balance out.  I’ll wake up on February 27th, lace up, head to my starting corral, and see where the day takes me.  I might not be able to run a whole 1/2 (heck, I might not be able to start it), and that’s ok.  Not completing the race would hardly be a difficult or disappointing outcome compared to serious issues that people face daily. So many people are doing hard things and learning how resilient and flexible they can be, and I’m here for that journey. I’m just happy to move and grateful for everyone providing the motivation and support. If you see me on the road, wave, honk, and/or tell me a joke.