The First Half

I saw it out of the corner of my eye and gasped. I tried to show KC, who had other things on her mind, like getting to the finish line sometime today. Cutest little frog, though, hopping around, oblivious to the fact that it was so tiny and there were gigantic (comparatively speaking) people running by. Sort of how I felt as the first place runner lapped us while we were still on our first loop. Small fish in a big pond. Our first half marathon.

All our weeks of training led to this one moment in time. Sunday was the Sloppy Cuckoo half marathon trail run. We arrived, excited and ready for the big adventure. We had been promised a challenging course to begin with, but the latest update included a revised course map which cut out a flat section (THE flat section) of the trail due to recent storm damage. Instead of a figure 8, the course was now two 6.55 mile loops. Yikes, the dreaded pass-the-car-and-keep-running plan. But we felt ready.

I'll describe the trail to you: downhill, rocks, roots, ruts, uphill, dodge branches, over downed trees, under downed trees, downhill, up a big big hill, zigzag through the woods, cross the stream, rinse, and repeat.

So the three of us (KC, Runna, and I) lined up at the start with 200-ish people. The coordinator gave some announcements before the "on your mark, get set, go" - no gunshot, but I'm ok with not hearing that sound in Philly - and we were off.

When we first stepped onto the trail, I knew this race was meant for me. We had to run single file much of the time and took turns being in front to set the pace. Occasionally we would start some of Drill's cadence songs but we never remembered enough of the words to keep it going. I, for one, am no good at ad-lib... or singing, for that matter. I felt like we made a good team. Not only sharing the singing and the pace-setting, but we took turns nearly twisting our ankles on the terrain. This race requires lots of focus!

Eventually I had to come face to face with my fear of horses. Yeah, it was inevitable. As narrow as the trail was, we had to make room for some riders and their beasts to pass. I could tell by the look in its eye that one of those horses really wanted to kick me so I almost knocked KC down trying to get out of the way. She seemed less fearful, knowing a bit more about horses than me. She actually put her arm up for me to get behind her like a mama protecting her frightened child. Believe it or not that was not the moment she said I was like a four-year-old. That came later when we saw the pretty flowers. And before I picked up the shiny rock.

We passed an aid station and walked a bit so we could have a snack to keep our energy up. Some people sitting on a bench started clapping and cheering for us when we approached them and I can only assume it was the numbers on our shirt and not our voracious snacking that told them we were in a race. I turned to Runna and said "we should probably be running when they are doing that" so we jogged and waved like champs.

KC was having a lot of back pain so I took it upon myself to be her protector, since she had my back with those horses. I spotted an almost-perfect stick on the ground and picked it up. It was a little too long and had a branch coming off of it so I looked around, walked over to a big tree, and in an very Tarzan-like manner, smacked it against the tree, breaking it down to the exact right size for a walking stick. I resisted the urge to grunt like a caveman when I handed it to her.

We did not enter the race to win anything, just to prove to ourselves that we could finish, and we did! And best of all, we were not the last to finish. Three people came in after us. We suspect they got lost somewhere on the trail. Hey, we'll take it. Mission accomplished!

Mud Puddles and Corn Stalks

I watched the ground, carefully stepping around puddles and brush, as I followed my husband through the field. We normally don't come out here until late November, when the air is colder, the grass and brush are dried up and lying down, and the ground is a bit dryer - or frozen. We also normally wear boots. Today, in my sneakers, cautious about protecting my ankles, I saw every rut and cornstalk as an obstacle. What is usually a straight shot to the back, turn left, straight shot to the left, is a minefield of potential injury. I found it hard to focus on the destination with my eyes nervously on the obstacles.

So I've hit an obstacle. The kind of obstacle I fretted most about, that threatens to keep me from a couple of very big goals I have set for myself. The kind that makes me lose heart and wonder if I really have what it takes to complete this mission I've been on.

This morning I was very angry. I wanted to yell at someone. I wanted to blame someone, but I really have no one to blame. I got some very good words from some very special people. My husband said: you just need to work out once and you'll be motivated again. JJ said: you are already prepared for your race. KC said: It's just one week, you'll bounce back. Tracey said: You're probably more ready than you think. Tiffany said: If anyone I know can do this, it is you.

How did I manage to surround myself with so many encouraging people? I feel like, at the moment, they are holding me up, and I owe it to them to dust myself off and get back out there. It's the most promising feeling I've had in ten days. Just because I've been looking down at the obstacles doesn't mean the goal has moved. I'm still going in the right direction, I just had to step around some puddles and corn stalks.

Sometimes the journey is smooth and I feel a constant progression toward my goal. And sometimes, I have to weave through rough terrain. My half marathon is a trail run. It's not a smooth, paved road. I chose that for the challenge. I just didn't realize the rough terrain would apply mentally as well. I've said it before and I'll say it again: the bigger the challenge, the greater the victory.

I am setting myself for one heck of an accomplishment.

Original

I tried to find it but the grass and shrubs had moved in, crowding it and hiding it. Still, I knew it had to be there. Twenty-five years ago I found it easily, the trail through the woods across from the neighbor's house. The trail I used to disappear on, exploring and pretending and thinking. I felt a sense of loss at seeing that, but nothing compared to the loss I felt when I saw the house. Memories of my dad flooded into my mind. Over there is where he kept his pigeons. Along that fence is where he had his garden. The hammock hung there and his table and chairs, which he built himself, sat right under those trees...

I just spent five days in the town where I grew up. It's been a few years since I've been there at all, and at least a decade since the three of us hung out together - me, Crystal, and Audrey. Catching up in the car after they picked me up from the airport was fun, except that, being in the back seat, I couldn't hear all of what they were saying. I didn't have much to contribute to the discussion about methods of drawing blood, since I hadn't pursued any career that involved such a skill. Still, when Audrey tried to include me by saying, "so, Glenda, how do you draw blood?," I gave it my best effort, saying, "usually by accident."

I had the odd experience while there of seeing two sides of myself. Revisiting places I used to know well brought back more feelings than memories. Several people commented that I looked exactly the same as I did back then. This surprised me, because I feel like I am worlds different. Seeing my former home, my high school, and other familiar places, took me back to a place so distant for me now it almost seemed like I was trying to recall a dream.

We currently live in the area where my husband went to school and he often sees people he knows. His family is in the area and some friends he grew up with. He has seen the area grow and change and knows what used to be on that corner, or who used to live in that house. For me, being so far away from where I grew up creates a separation that feels like a different lifetime. Nobody in our town here knows how awkward I was growing up. They didn't see me, stick-skinny with acne and frizzy hair and low self esteem.

This trip "home" was indescribably odd to me. I couldn't remember names and faces. I couldn't remember my way around. We passed the house I grew up in and I didn't even know it until I was told. We saw a weird movie about clones being raised for their organs and in one scene, a girl went searching for her "original". That's the closest I could come to describing this experience. My original is no longer there. So I wanted to see evidence. I wanted to see pictures or a video or hear about her from others. I actually heard a really funny story that would have embarrassed me, had I felt any connection to my original. But I really don't.

How is it that others say I'm exactly the same when I don't even feel like I know the person they are referring to? I'm curious to know if anyone else, in the process of finding themselves, have ever felt this separation from their "original".