I never thought I’d be the kind of person who wanted to go out running, much less who chose to run three miles on Thanksgiving morning before preparing a meal for guests.
But then again eight years ago, when I ran my first 5K, I couldn’t imagine how running would change my life and my marriage. Or how much I would need it to.
In sickness
I always tell people of that first time that we were running to save our lives. I know some people joke about this–If I’m running, it’s because I’m being chased–and although our threat wasn’t necessarily visible, it was true for us that we were in danger and running was one of our best options for survival. It was a desperate and unconventional attempt to save our marriage, and for nine weeks we trained together, sometimes pushing a jogging stroller with our young children squeezed inside. I won’t go into all the details of that time of our lives. You can read some of that journey here.
We ran that 5K from a place of sickness. Our bodies, our marriage, our minds were unhealthy, and this was a drastic measure for us that was only the start of a long road toward healing all of these things.
But I couldn’t have known that at the time.
In health
I was thinking of that first 5K because of our participation in a Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning. So much of this year’s race was different from that first time. The biggest difference is us.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
In the last eight years, my husband and I have run a few 5Ks, either on our own or with our daughter when she’s participated in a running program for school. We haven’t run one together since that first one, and while we didn’t intend to run this one together, as in, side-by-side, we were still in it together. We showed up at the start together and ran the same race.
Us, after it was all over
There is something significant about that.
For years, our recovery from the crisis that almost broke us was separate. Individual. It was my husband taking steps toward health and me just trying to get through a day of diapers and clinging kids without crying. Or me finally getting the mental health help I needed while my husband struggled to provide for our family in difficult job positions.
In the last year, we’ve been on a track of being healthy together, and I would go as far to say that it’s probably been our healthiest year yet both as a couple and as individuals. We both took ownership and control of our mental health as well as our physical health. My husband became a regular at a gym. I committed to running regularly and did a food experiment to reset my relationship with food. We both lost some pounds that were weighing us down. We are stronger in mind and body, and choosing to run a 5K on Thanksgiving morning is in line with the kind of people we’ve become.
Even when temperatures were below freezing with an even colder wind chill.
I may have questioned my mental stability on the morning of the race as wind stung my exposed skin. Still, it felt like the right thing to do.
For better or worse
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about running since I started doing it regularly in February it’s that I can’t wait until conditions are perfect to run. I wouldn’t have gotten where I am today if I had.
I started running regularly in February and only took a three-week break in July when schedules were hard to coordinate. I’ve run when it’s pouring down rain, just after it has snowed, when it’s been unseasonably cold, and hotter than I thought I could bear. And I’ve made it through every kind of run. I’ve had to adjust my schedule some days when the weather hasn’t cooperated fully, but I make weather a rare excuse to miss a run.
Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash
There is something to be learned about marriage in this. Not all the days are sunny. Few are perfect. We keep going anyway. (This is not to say that all marriages must endure everything no matter what. I am only speaking of our personal journey.)
When we signed up for the Turkey Trot a month or so ago, we had no idea the temperatures would feel like the teens on the day of the race. When we signed up to join our lives “for better or worse till death do us part” I wasn’t really thinking about the “worse” part, and I surely couldn’t imagine what it might actually mean. (It was worse than any “worst” I could imagine for myself.)
We could have opted out of the race. No one forced us to run a race we’d already paid for. We could have opted out of our marriage, too. No one made us stay together. I have found a kind of satisfaction I didn’t know existed in sticking with something even when it’s difficult. Especially when it’s important.
I do
Whether it’s marriage or a 5K, this much I know: No one can do the work for me.
The Turkey Trot was my first on-my-own 5K ever. I was nervous and scared and excited and cold, but somewhere deep inside me, I knew I could do this. My husband and I layered clothing and joined the throng at the starting point. I kissed him, and said, “See you at the finish line,” knowing he would cross before me, The gunshot signaled our start and we jogged/walked until the crowd broke up and then my husband was gone and I was on my own in the crowd, focusing on my breathing and keeping my face protected from the wind.
Photo by aquachara on Unsplash
The first mile passed fairly quickly, as it often does for me, and I was surprised to see my time at 11:40. The second mile was a little more difficult as we descended a hill I heard people call “puke hill” and then gradually made our way back up a zigzagging path. I kept running even though some people chose to walk the hill. I wanted to walk but only because my mind is sometimes weak. I completed a 2.4-mile run on Sunday, so I was determined to keep going until I made it at least to that point. My goal was to run the whole thing, no matter how long it took.
Setting a goal, remembering my past accomplishments, seeing how far I’ve already come–these are lessons for other areas of my life, too.
The second mile was the longest, which is the same thing I said about the second mile during our first 5K. But at the marker for mile 2, I was at 23:15, the fastest I’ve run 2 miles in all of my training, so I was confident and hopeful that I could turn out a good time for this race. Meeting one milestone and then another is no reason to let up.
In the third mile, my training–or lack of it–began to show. The 2.4 miles I ran four days before the race was the longest I’d run and while my body had gotten used to running 2 miles and pacing for that, the extra mile was trickier. Sometimes we will find ourselves in unfamiliar territory, places that we have no experience navigating. This is hard, no doubt, but not impossible.
I started to take it easy because I wanted to finish strong, and there were a few more gentle hills before the finish. The race ended inside the stadium and the last mile was close to the stadium the whole time, which was slightly deceptive but also encouraging. (If I could give one piece of advice to anyone about anything it would be “pace yourself so you can finish strong.” Easier said than done about anything.)
A police officer yelled encouragement to all of us passing by and offered energy-boosting high fives to all who wanted one. This is my favorite part of running a 5K, all of the encouragement from strangers and friends alike. I always wonder why we don’t offer this same kind of enthusiastic encouragement to friends and family going through difficulties or tackling some new challenge. I’m striving to be more of an encourager in the small things.
Near the stadium, a volunteer manning the route called out that we were at 2.6 miles. Okay, I thought, only half a mile to go. My legs were feeling weak and my body was warm and I wanted to finish strong. I couldn’t find it in me to push harder because I wanted to finish and I wanted to run the whole thing. Forward progress, no matter how slow, is still progress.
As I rounded the corner to enter the stadium, a friend who had finished called out my name–“Go Lisa!”–and then my husband was there on the first curve of the track, calling out encouragement and clapping his hands. I ran the track as best I could, trying not to listen to the people around me who were just trying to make it through, including a girl who said she was going to puke. That propelled me forward like nothing else could because no way did I want to hear that.
And then the finish line was in front of me and I crossed it before the clock ticked over to 38 minutes. I was relieved and a little disappointed but mostly just glad to have finished. My husband found me and I clung to him while we waited in line for water and a banana. I ended up needing to sit for a minute because my vision got a little blurry, but we stuck around long enough to greet another friend and her family before heading to the car to warm up.
From this day forward
“Finishing” and “finishing strong” mean different things to different people and seldom will it be tidy or pretty. A three-mile effort is exhausting, even when you’re fit. (Isn’t it? I’m assuming here.) You don’t have to come out the other side of a challenge or trial looking or feeling the same as when you went in. It’s going to change you somehow. And it’s probably going to hurt a little. (Two days later, my muscles are still aching from the effort.)
My official time was 37:54, and it was the third mile that did me in. I went back to see what our time was during that first 5K and it was in the 35-minute range. This astounds me because I know how unhealthy I was then and how much healthier I am now, but I also know that my husband set the pace during that first 5K and this one was all me. (Another piece of advice I cling to: “Run your race.” I was in the 800s out of more than a thousand runners. A lot of people ran faster than me. Some ran slower. Or walked. Everyone went at their own pace. All I could do was run my race.)
After Thursday’s results, now I have a new goal. To keep working on that third mile and to run the next one a minute or so faster. Always improving. Striving for better. Seeing where I can grow and improve.
This is true for life and marriage as well.
We are in a place of health. But we have not arrived.
New goals. Continued improvement.
Now and forever.
