Finish Lines

Crossing a finish line is a powerful thing.  It doesn’t have to be an actual finish line either; a metaphorical one will do just fine.  I guess it is more the idea that you began at one starting place or another and made it to the end, or the goal.  More often than not it is less about the starting or finish line and more about all the places in between that carried you from one point to another.

For me the finish line was an actual one at the end of 13.1 long-ass miles.  Yesterday I ran the half marathon I have been training for the last three months.  It was as long as it sounds, at times as painful as you might have imagined, and a far more fulfilling experience than I could ever have hoped for.  More than that though, I met a goal I had set as a way to show myself that I could find a way to tangibly show I am attempting to keep moving forward with my life after losing my baby boy.

As soon as I woke up I found myself asking a question I am all too familiar with these last eight months: How am I ever going to make it through this?  Almost immediately I found myself responding to the doubt: One foot in front of the other, that’s how.  And it is the honest to God truth. (I’m gearin’ up for a good metaphor in case you didn’t see it coming) This whole experience of training for this half marathon has been incredibly similar to my experience as a new grieving mama. Some mornings I can barely force myself out of bed to go on a run and other morning I wake up full of energy ready to take on the pavement for a long one.  Some days I am running and I just can’t find a good rhythm or keep pace and I can’t figure out why, especially because just the day before I did great.  As time goes on and the more runs I have under my feet, I am sometimes shocked at how far I’ve traveled; I never thought I’d make it to where I found myself yesterday.   But even as I was running yesterday, I considered stopping a least a dozen times; I was just too tired, I had too much further to go, and everything hurts.  I guess it doesn’t really matter how hard you train, you are going to doubt yourself along the way.  (I hope you could catch my drift on that one)

It was really amazing though. I had two great friends running the same half marathon so it was so awesome to share the experience with two ladies I really care about.  Seeing all the different people running, from seemingly all walks of life, had me wondering what keeps them running?  I suppose everyone has something that drives him or her forward when their legs are begging them to stop.  I run for my kids; I run for Kennedy and I run for Jack.  My husband, whom after yesterday I adore more than ever, mapped out several spots he and Kennedy could watch me and cheer me on.  Seeing my baby girl cheer me on gave me the extra push at just the right moments.  As I approached the finish line, convinced I had no gas left in my tank, and saw the last hill I’d have to climb to make it to the finish I could feel myself start to cry.  I made it up the hill and saw my sweet girl, with her wild hair and big smile, jumping up and down, yelling, “Go! Mommy, go!” the first sob escaped my mouth.  I quickly reminded myself to save it for the end because I had no breath to spare but then I saw my best friend, Jen, who surprised me with some live race day support, and so another sob came out.

I pushed forward with everything I could muster and made it across the finish line.  I was given a medal, my 13.1 bumper sticker (which I will proudly plaster across the back of our new SUV despite Sean’s protests, thank you very much!) and I exhaustedly found myself in the arms of my friend, followed by my genuinely proud husband and Kennedy, who was bearing the brightest smile and bouquet of daisies I’ve ever seen.  I remembered to look up to the sky and silently thank my Jack for pushing his mama across the finish line when I didn’t feel like I could take even one more step.  It was a perfect moment; followed by some serious vomiting, showering, four-hour-napping, huge-dinner-eating, passing out for the night moments.

There were smiles and tears and “I can’t believe we made it’s”.  It was the kind of finish line morning you would hope for.  It may have been a finish line, but really, for me, it was really just a starting line for all of the step forwards I am going to have to take in order to move forward in my life.  I will be exhausted, frustrated, desperate to stay in bed and shut the world out some days, but I will always do my best to move forward.