A Dandelion at the Finish Line

I ran a 5K on the 4th of July.

I didn't break any records. In fact, in the home stretch, there was a 25 MPH speed limit sign that made my already cottoned mouth laugh to the point of nearly gagging. I composed myself straight away as my goal was to finish the race without dying or throwing up.

Having just recovered from pneumonia in early June and having scattered bits of travel and events throughout our June schedule, training was not in the forefront of my mind. Running certainly helped the stress during the week of my mom's surgery (and how hilarious to be watched by their 8 horses as I trekked up and down their winding driveway!) Despite the empowerment gained after a run, 10,000 excuses kept me from making it routine last month. Exhaustion and inconvenience were the top two.

After the first mile of the race, two teenagers passed me. I knew their ages by the "Class of" printed on their backs. There was no breeze, we were running on a gravel track through a wooded area and, for a second, I muttered under my breath. They haven't had pneumonia. They haven't had two kids. They probably slept more than 12 hrs in the last week.

It was kind of evil. I literally shook my head to knock the crap thought out. Breathing was getting really hard. So I started to pray. God, just get me to the finish line with minimal walking. I'd like not to be last, but finishing without puking is fine, too.

Then I heard Dorrie from Finding Nemo. "Just keep running. Just keep running, running, running." Logic and empathy kicked in.

How am I to know what these fine teens are up to anyway? They're here at 9am on a holiday, aren't they? Who knows what stresses befall them in this moment? Teen stresses are often much worse than puking or dying.

Then the miraculous happened. They started to walk. I passed them! I kept running and the breeze picked up for a moment. Finishing the race before two teens, I really began wondering if I had a megaphone on my inner monologue. (Scary thought.)

After the race, my 6 year old handed me a dandelion and a dead leaf. "Here you go, Mom. This is to make you feel better since you didn't win."

"Oh honey, but I did win. I just didn't come in first. Sometimes just finishing is winning." She was less than convinced.

No matter what, running has an empowering effect on me. Except, of course, when I don't do it. Then, by my own definition, I lose.

How do you define a win? What are you losing by simply not trying?