“Get on the line!”
Already tired from the day’s practice and frustrated with whoever screwed up a drill for the umpteenth time, those are 4 words every high school football player dreads hearing as they head for the sidelines and prepare to sprint until they want to puke.
Fast forward 7 years to the moment of euphoria when I crossed the finish line of the Chicago Marathon in 3:04:11 and joined roughly .05% of the population who’ve qualified for Boston. As I was presented with my medal—along with the best part of running any race, the beer at the end!—one question crossed my mind. How did I end up here?
At different points in my life, I’d run for many reasons: for sports, to meet people, for a girl, to get in shape, to build confidence, to network, to push myself, and for the beer (or bourbon!). Somehow, over time what I’d once thought of as punishment turned into something I would actually pay to do.
My first ever race was a 5k in a small college town. The course itself was less than inspiring and nothing but a painful reminder of all those sprints I had run for sports. After that race I didn’t really continue running much, except to stay in some semblance of shape for Rugby.
About a year later, after college and having joined the ranks of corporate America, I found myself running the Cincinnati Flying Pig Relay to help a friend’s team who had an injured runner. I was the third leg which was 7 miles, my longest run. Ever. Intimidated by the myriad of runners surrounding me in my corral as I waited for my teammate to pass the baton, I felt out of place. I was not a runner and I felt like I didn’t belong there among all those other people with huge smiles eagerly awaiting their turn to run. I was nervous I might let our team down. All that changed when I slapped the bracelet on my wrist and hit the road. Distracted by the crowds lining the street, cheering for and encouraging me to keep going, to keep pushing. It could have been 1000 miles—I was enthralled. Each sign or cheer gave me a smile, momentarily distracting me from the pain of running. I was hooked!
After that race I decided to run a full Marathon the following year. It was then I joined a running group. I never would have guessed how quickly they would become such a big part of my life—more than just a social circle or training partners, they truly became family. The support and encouragement we give each other as we push ourselves to be better, not only in our training, but in all aspects of our lives is unparalleled. From venting on a run after work and feeling better about the day, to coming together to support a fellow runner whose mother was battling cancer, to the encouragement from complete strangers simply because you are a runner; there is no better community. And that is what keeps me coming back and pushing forward.
So, whether your next run is with a group, by yourself, a race, on a treadmill or even your first run – know that with running you are part of something bigger and that there are family, friends and even strangers who support you like few other communities can.
