A Tiny Brave Run... 7 Years Later
...a small confident moment, after a long hiatus
It was quiet.
The sound of feet hitting the pavement filled the air. It had been 7 years since I had been here: immersed in a sea of humans, all running in the same direction…on purpose.
—————————————————
“Mom, can we GOOO yet?”
She had been extraordinarily patient for a 5 year old. Now, a bit whiney, her mouth was fixed in an expectant pout.
Meryl Streep’s voice floated out from her little story player, a small box narrating Charlotte’s Web for the zillionth time that week. That I am now either lulled or outright irritated by the voice of the regal Meryl Streep—depending on what else has happened that day—has been a strange development.
But, I digress.
Her demand to know why were STILL STOPPED snapped me from my reverie. The one in which I am once again a fit-for-racing-runner, trotting towards the finish line with a throng of others. All running for the same reason, towards the same thing. A belonging of sorts.
One that I hadn’t experienced in 7 years. 7 YEARS.
I found out I was pregnant for the first time in early March of 2018. It was unexpected, but not so much so that, once we got over the shock of a positive pregnancy test at 2am after a night out (suspend judgement please), my husband and I then began to feel excited.
After 2+ months of a great deal of nausea, I went to my 10 week OB appt to learn that they couldn’t find the heartbeat. MY heartbeat was broken. The grief, unexpected.
When I again got pregnant in mid-June (this time very much planned), I was terrified of another miscarriage. I basically decided that any form of exertion more than a slow walk was off limits. I packed my former marathon-running identity neatly into a box and shoved it somewhere I wouldn’t think of it.
For a long time as it turns out.
I gave birth to my daughter in March of 2019. Consistent exercise—already long absent from life—alluded me for years, honestly. Everything felt dependent on my finicky sleeper’s schedule, and I was mostly exhausted most of the time.
How do so many women do it? I wondered constantly, sending myself deeper and deeper into the self-inflicted shame spiral about why I couldn’t manage to “bounce back,” even now that I had a 3 year old….then a 4 year old…then a 5 year old.
What was wrong with me anyway?
Any routine I worked towards fell apart after a mere few weeks. I always had an excuse: not enough time, tiring work, tireless momming or wifing. Generally, just life.
But in exact THIS MOMENT, I decided, I was going to train for a race.
We were stopped at the Navy Memorial Bridge where we live in Annapolis, MD, watching runners as they were finishing a half marathon. The bridge was closed. A perfect time to have planned a trip to the little coffee truck we love in Eastport. My daughter had her mind set on the warm waffle she knew she was getting, and she wasn’t pleased.
As the last runners headed up and over the bridge, we could finally begin driving again. Though I was in the same place I had been 20 minutes earlier, I was also somehow not.
In one snap decision I knew it was time to make a real attempt at getting back to something I had loved for ages. Something that made me feel alive and like the most authentic version of myself.
I began training immediately; a program that was slow enough to ward off potential injury, but robust enough to make sure I would be ready to run a 10K in a few months.
I feel into a routine (or as close as I’ve gotten in years) and knew that even though it likely wouldn’t be my BEST race, I could definitely DO it.
And I did.
Running downhill on main street, holiday decorations joyfully swaying in the winter wind, the sparkling Chesapeake Bay in sight, I took it all in. I realized how different the version of me that showed up to run this 10K was from the version that would have shown up 10 years ago.
So many things have changed in my life. Chief among them, my reason for being there and the way I approached the race—with grace and gratitude for making it to the starting line.
I rounded the corner, finish line in sight, my smile widened as I spotted the biggest change in my life—perched atop her dad’s shoulders, holding a sign she wrote that said, “Go Mom!”
The reason I do so many things that require at least a moment of suspended belief (I can totally train for a race again!) these days is not only for myself, but to model what’s possible. So that someday, if she’s a mom, she will have an innate knowing that motherhood has room for the person you are before you are Mama.
Even if it takes 7 years—and a tiny brave run—to remember.