A 12K

Today was the day! Oh deary me, what a day! The night before the race, my cousin came over to spend the night, and since the race started at 8 a.m the next morning, we went to sleep early-- 9:00. Well, we tried anyways. When ever my cousin comes over, we usually talk for at least an hour.

The next morning our alarm went off at 6 am. We needed time for our food to digest and warm up before the race.

THE RACE! A 12K!

My best friend and training partner met us at my house for a spot of oatmeal. All three of us were excited and a bit nervous about the prospect of running so far. Only my cousin had ran that far before -- and goodness it seemed like we would die on the journey.

Next, my brother showed up in his red Mustang, the motor rumbling to a halt in front of our childhood home. We all piled in my mom's van, and she drove all four of us runners to the starting line. We made sure we had our numbers pinned tightly to the front of our shirts, and walked on shaking legs to the starting line.

CRACK! Off we went, lost in a huge hoard of trampling, expensive running equipment. While my brother jetted of to the front of the pack, my two best friends and I stayed together, dodging around the slower runners. We were quiet. I couldn't think. I just ran. It was a good thing that I was too nervous to think, because two miles into the race when the jitters had worn off, I was thinking, "Oh my goodness, we still have 5 more miles to go!!" Could I keep running for that much longer?

It was about that time that I started to pull ahead of my friends. I felt a rush of motivation, and not wanting to waste it, I took off, feeling the ground hard beneath my feet. 5 miles in, I felt like I was on auto piolet. I don't think my legs could stop even if I tried. I was in a groove, but I was starting to hope that the finish line would come quicker.

Mile 6.The fatigue has set in. I knew there was a mammoth hill somewhere between me and the finish line... NOOOOOO... there it was, billowing up ahead of me. Just as I thought I couldn't go any more, I had a hill to the finish line to conquer. My feel pounded, my head dripped with cold sweat, and I kept going. All I could think to keep from stopping was "Just keep running, just keep running!" I knew that I would be so proud when I finally finish, that I just didn't want to stop!

And finally, when I had given up all hope of ever seeing the finish line, I saw lines of people lined up cheering for the runners. And there was my family, including my brother who finished well before me. I sprinted that last bit with the last crumb of energy I had left. The moment of crossing the finish line was one of the best in my life. I WAS DONE! I HAD DONE IT! I HAD FINISHED!! I impress myself! My legs felt like rubber, but I wanted to cheer on my two best friends at their finish line.

 It was certainly a day to remember, and an experience that I will repeat one of these days....

I Was That Kid

Camping with my family can be a wild event. A motor home, two tents and three cars all packed into two spots, side by side. Thirteen people running madly about: unloading, cooking, eating and laughing. My mom calling us back to help her set up the tent, my Omi, cooking the traditional baked spaghetti on the first night, and us kids (my cousins and three brothers), trying to sneak away on our bicycles and explore.  

Oh, how we would gallivant around our loop, finding the quickest way to the bathroom, the fresh water pipe and the grounds campfire pit where shows would be put on. The best was when Granda joined us. Then we would return to report our findings. We were carefree and wild. We were best of friends.

I would love to ride so fast—so fast that my hair would be whipping in the wind behind me, feeling the breeze on my face, and breathing the fresh air so deeply. Sometimes I would ride with my eyes closed, loving the risk and that good feeling one gets when they are in nature. Even when I was small, I loved that feeling of no strings. No ropes to pull me back down to earth, but letting me flutter beautifully above the world, enjoying the view and the feeling.  Oh, to be a child.

We would hike together, yodeling loud enough to wake slumbering bears. Sometimes we would try to hike fast so that we could go back and ride bikes, or sometimes one of us just wanted to “sit down and die” right there on the trail. The humorous, childish scenes. Stopping occasionally to wait for the “slow” grown-ups, and talking sweet nothings.  When we returned, we would eat together, laughing so loudly. I felt so proud of my family—everyone must have been jealous of our group and the fun we had together. We would make a roaring fire, the young hunting around for sticks and pinecones to light on fire, and sticks to roast marshmallows. And who would make the most golden delicious marshmallow, one perfect enough to give to Omi? Never me, but I tried so hard to be patient.

The times I spent camping with my family are some of my fondest memories. When I think of these times, I feel warm and can’t help but smile. It is the feeling of pure love and joy and happiness. It is the feeling that makes life the most amazing experience. It is the feeling that makes me miss my family now when I am miles away from home, and allows my love to reach them like the strength of my arms when I give my famous hugs.