My sister loves me. When I reminded her that I am running the Route 66 Marathon on Sunday, she sent me these photos, with these captions.
These days, when I run a longer distance race, I get all sentimental about the early days. Each mile was a success. I celebrated each run. I felt profoundly thankful for every new running friend I made. So many men and women carried me along on my little journey, I can’t help but get weepy thinking about them.
I stumbled into running, but once I caught my balance, I went headlong.
And I took my people with me. That’s kind of the point, for me. Running a new mileage, hitting a new time goal, finishing another marathon, those make me feel all warm and glowy inside, and I don’t want to extinguish it.
During my last long training run, 20 miles, I stopped for water, and heard a group of women celebrating having run 12 miles. They were so excited and encouraging to each other, I jumped in. As they high fived and giggled, I gave them my crazy lady WAY TO GO.
I’m not worried about the race; I’m more concerned with how my pink compression socks will seriously clash with my eggplant shorts from UR. I’m trying to decide if I want to take my hydration belt to be greener or if I don’t want to bother. But the run? The distance? I got this. Because I have my cheerleaders.
Who are your cheerleaders? For whom are you a cheerleader? What’s more fun?