half the battle

 Today's post is dedicated to my mom. If I had a penny for every time she has told me: "Half the battle is just showing up," I would be a rich woman. Actually, since it's just a penny we're talking about here, it would probably be more upper-middle class woman. But you get the idea.

The thing about it though, is that it's so true:

Last weekend, I ran in a 5K with a group of amateur runners - mostly including my parents and their friends (cool, I know) - along with about 500 of my closest friends.  It was called the Hecker Tiki Trot and it was absolutely the most unique race I have ever run in.  Completely opposite from most racing events, the Tiki Trot started at 8pm instead of the usual, crack-of-dawn morning races.  Also setting it apart, and keeping people from smacking into each other, were the hundreds of tiki torches lining both sides of the dark country roads during the 3.1 mile event.  It was gorgeous, and totally worth a visit if you haven't been.  (They even have a Facebook group with some pictures and all the info!)

I have been running off and on (mostly off) since my Freshman year in high school.  Since last January, when my mom talked me into signing up for a Half Marathon, I have gotten a lot more serious about the whole running thing...which is really only half serious compared to most runners.  Anyway, I had worked up to my longest run being about 8 miles, so I got a little cocky and thought this 5K was going to be a nice and easy run followed by a possible corn dog from one of the food stands.  Boy, was I wrong.

Strangely, I have a little bit of a competitive streak that only comes out during board games (I cheated at Candy Land when I was 4 - sorry, Grandma) and racing events.  I must have been born with the board game thing, but the racing thing was hard-wired into my brain during my senior year Cross Country season.  I wasn't that great time-wise, but I killed myself during every race to try and get a personal best.

Although I have tried to forget that compulsion to run as fast as I can for as long as I can, it seems to pop up at inopportune times: when the buzzer sounded and the couple hundred people in front of me and behind me started running like bats out of hell, I told myself that I was just going to stay with the group, keep a slower pace, and finish strong.  Then out of nowhere I got a little fire in my belly and I started passing people.  Why I can't push myself like that in a practice run, I will never know (but it might have had something to do with the thoughts of a corn dog at the finish line).  I felt good - going much faster than my long runs and gaining confidence with each stride and each person passed.  After the first two miles though, I hit a very hard brick wall.

The last mile was me holding on and limp-jogging while making over-dramatic breathing sounds.  Not fun at the time, but kind of funny now.  I crossed the finish line, with my mom - God bless her for talking me through that last bit, and with a time of 30:24.  Not horrible, but not my best time and not really competitive.  Needless to say, I was exhausted and mad at myself for going out without a plan.  And to top everything off, they only had burgers.  I really wanted that corn dog - it was half the reason I even ran!

After grabbing a bite, we headed home, me in the back of the van doing what I do best - pouting.

A few days later, the race results were up online.  I am not as interested in seeing the winning times as my mom and dad are - I don't want to know how much faster everyone else is.  But as we were scrolling down the page, we stopped on the Women's 20-24 age group.  I read the results and blinked a few times.  I HAD FINISHED IN SECOND PLACE FOR MY AGE GROUP.  At first I felt a little silly for all that pouting I had done.  But then I got over it and smiled for about ten minutes straight.  And when my medal came in the mail a few days later, I wore it around and pranced about the house like some sort of Olympic Gold Medalist.

"See," my mom said, "Half the battle was just showing up.  You can't win if you don't show up."

Showing up at that race, with the temperature a balmy 90 degrees and the humidity skyrocketing, the last thing I thought I could do was actually place.  Little did I know, I had the confidence of someone much wiser than me on my side.

She knew, half the battle was just showing up.  You never know what might happen unless you do.