run. pray. - Always Quality Over Quantity
About two weeks ago, I ran the Diva Half Marathon in Myrtle Beach with a close friend. Well, we didn't run it together, but we both completed it. It was not my best race-one of my slowest to be honest-but my less than average performance had everything to do with my life decisions that weekend.
We arrived in Myrtle Beach late that Friday. The week had been crazy busy and stressful. I was nervous about the race because I had been dealing with hip and glute issues again (and they were bad). I got out of the car Friday night in pretty severe pain and hobbled down the beach with my friend and her aunt. On Saturday, the pain subsided a little, but I was afraid I'd wake up race day, Sunday, and not be able to walk, so instead of taking care of myself, I made some less than savory decisions on Saturday.
After picking up our race packets and spending a little too much money at the expo and shopping, Allie and I decided to spend a few hours on the beach...with a cooler full of cold adult beverages. One or two beverages turned into a full day of partaking. So, when I woke up Sunday morning, it actually wasn't my hips and glutes that hurt. It was my stomach. Not a good way to start race day. Not to mention, I was dehydrated.
By the start of the race, I was a little aggravated and not feeling optimistic. The race ended up starting about 20 minutes late which induced my aggravation. With every passing minute, I was losing motivation and enthusiasm to run this race. It was 7:20 a.m. and 80 degrees with 80+ percent humidity, and I had a sour stomach and was dehydrated with sore hips and glutes. Sounds like a grand time, huh?
Finally, the race started. Allie and I parted ways and off I went. Slow and steady. Slow and steady, I kept telling myself. After a couple of miles, I was dripping with sweat but I was feeling better than expected. My body was carrying me. My stomach was ok. I couldn't feel the pain in my hips or glutes. I didn't have any technology on stressing me with my time. I didn't even have headphones in. I was listening to the world around me. It was actually a pretty good run.
There I was surrounded by hundreds of other women with different stories and journeys, but we all had the same goal in mind. Never once did I feel pressured to run faster. Never once did I feel like I didn't measure up. Never once did I feel pressured to compete. The atmosphere was non-threatening. It was peaceful. In the sea of women, I ran for miles and miles and the world was silent. Not a sound except for the beat of feet hitting the pavement.
I met a few ladies along the way who inspired me to keep my feet moving. Around mile 9, the miles started to feel longer. My legs started to feel heavier. My stomach started to growl. The relaxing feeling was gone. I was running beside this one lady for a couple of miles. She looked over at me and said, "I'm secretly dying over here." I smiled, shook my head, and responded, "Me too." We proceeded to talk for a couple of minutes as we jogged side by side. Eventually, my pace slowed and I gave up trying to stick with her.
The last three miles were probably the slowest three miles I had "ran" in a REALLY long time. I started to beat myself up about it, but I stopped myself. Reminding myself that a "slow time" doesn't define me as a runner or a person. This was my tenth half marathon. How many people can say that? Yes, I'm surrounded by people who run marathons and 50Ks, but that's because the people I run with are CRAZY! They aren't average human beings. The fact that I was out there, under the conditions I was in, was an accomplishment. Who cared about time. What mattered was the quality of my run. Why was I trying to ruin it by quantifying it with a time?
To me, the quality of my run is measured by the feelings I get while I'm running and the weight that is lifted when I finish. After a stressful week, I cut across that finish line exhausted and soaking wet, but I crossed it with a lighter mind, less on my shoulders, and with a more open heart and a healing spirit.
Once my sneakers touched the finish line, I took a break to call Matt and went back out to look for Allie. As I turned the corner, about .10 mile from the finish line, I saw a medic speaking to a lady. She must've been in her late 40s or early 50s. The medic was encouraging her to make it around the corner to the finish line. The lady was crying and shaking her head no. Her legs were cramping. She was in pain. I empathized with her. I knew the pain she was feeling. I looked her in the eyes and said, "Come on. I've got you. You can hold my hand or I can carry you, but you will cross that finish line." She looked back at me with tears and shook her head. Off we went. I'm sure that tenth mile seemed like an eternity for her. I could see it in her eyes as tears streamed down her face. All I knew to say to her was, "You are so strong. The finish is right there. You are so strong."
When she crossed the finish line of her first half marathon, she gave me a high five and between gasp of air and tears, she said thank you. Now, that's a quality run.
A few minutes later, I cheered on Allie as she took to the finish line of her second half marathon. And, all I could think was, "The quality of life moments are so much better than the quantity."
Measure life by its quality, not by the number of objects, trips, money, or friends. None of it matters if it's all worth nothing in the end.
We arrived in Myrtle Beach late that Friday. The week had been crazy busy and stressful. I was nervous about the race because I had been dealing with hip and glute issues again (and they were bad). I got out of the car Friday night in pretty severe pain and hobbled down the beach with my friend and her aunt. On Saturday, the pain subsided a little, but I was afraid I'd wake up race day, Sunday, and not be able to walk, so instead of taking care of myself, I made some less than savory decisions on Saturday.
After picking up our race packets and spending a little too much money at the expo and shopping, Allie and I decided to spend a few hours on the beach...with a cooler full of cold adult beverages. One or two beverages turned into a full day of partaking. So, when I woke up Sunday morning, it actually wasn't my hips and glutes that hurt. It was my stomach. Not a good way to start race day. Not to mention, I was dehydrated.
By the start of the race, I was a little aggravated and not feeling optimistic. The race ended up starting about 20 minutes late which induced my aggravation. With every passing minute, I was losing motivation and enthusiasm to run this race. It was 7:20 a.m. and 80 degrees with 80+ percent humidity, and I had a sour stomach and was dehydrated with sore hips and glutes. Sounds like a grand time, huh?
Finally, the race started. Allie and I parted ways and off I went. Slow and steady. Slow and steady, I kept telling myself. After a couple of miles, I was dripping with sweat but I was feeling better than expected. My body was carrying me. My stomach was ok. I couldn't feel the pain in my hips or glutes. I didn't have any technology on stressing me with my time. I didn't even have headphones in. I was listening to the world around me. It was actually a pretty good run.
There I was surrounded by hundreds of other women with different stories and journeys, but we all had the same goal in mind. Never once did I feel pressured to run faster. Never once did I feel like I didn't measure up. Never once did I feel pressured to compete. The atmosphere was non-threatening. It was peaceful. In the sea of women, I ran for miles and miles and the world was silent. Not a sound except for the beat of feet hitting the pavement.
I met a few ladies along the way who inspired me to keep my feet moving. Around mile 9, the miles started to feel longer. My legs started to feel heavier. My stomach started to growl. The relaxing feeling was gone. I was running beside this one lady for a couple of miles. She looked over at me and said, "I'm secretly dying over here." I smiled, shook my head, and responded, "Me too." We proceeded to talk for a couple of minutes as we jogged side by side. Eventually, my pace slowed and I gave up trying to stick with her.
The last three miles were probably the slowest three miles I had "ran" in a REALLY long time. I started to beat myself up about it, but I stopped myself. Reminding myself that a "slow time" doesn't define me as a runner or a person. This was my tenth half marathon. How many people can say that? Yes, I'm surrounded by people who run marathons and 50Ks, but that's because the people I run with are CRAZY! They aren't average human beings. The fact that I was out there, under the conditions I was in, was an accomplishment. Who cared about time. What mattered was the quality of my run. Why was I trying to ruin it by quantifying it with a time?
To me, the quality of my run is measured by the feelings I get while I'm running and the weight that is lifted when I finish. After a stressful week, I cut across that finish line exhausted and soaking wet, but I crossed it with a lighter mind, less on my shoulders, and with a more open heart and a healing spirit.
Once my sneakers touched the finish line, I took a break to call Matt and went back out to look for Allie. As I turned the corner, about .10 mile from the finish line, I saw a medic speaking to a lady. She must've been in her late 40s or early 50s. The medic was encouraging her to make it around the corner to the finish line. The lady was crying and shaking her head no. Her legs were cramping. She was in pain. I empathized with her. I knew the pain she was feeling. I looked her in the eyes and said, "Come on. I've got you. You can hold my hand or I can carry you, but you will cross that finish line." She looked back at me with tears and shook her head. Off we went. I'm sure that tenth mile seemed like an eternity for her. I could see it in her eyes as tears streamed down her face. All I knew to say to her was, "You are so strong. The finish is right there. You are so strong."
When she crossed the finish line of her first half marathon, she gave me a high five and between gasp of air and tears, she said thank you. Now, that's a quality run.
A few minutes later, I cheered on Allie as she took to the finish line of her second half marathon. And, all I could think was, "The quality of life moments are so much better than the quantity."
Measure life by its quality, not by the number of objects, trips, money, or friends. None of it matters if it's all worth nothing in the end.
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