Yesterday, for the third year in a row, my boyfriend and I ran the Marin Memorial Day 10K.
This run is very significant to me. It marks a milestone when, two years ago, I started doing something about my health and weight. I’d gained more than 30 pounds since college. I was unhappy with myself. My self esteem was at an all time low. I had hit rock bottom.
The thought of running a 10K, something I’d never done before, was frightening. I was scared shitless leading up to the event, especially when we got there on race day at 7 a.m. and realized we were couch potatoes among top-notch athletes. I thought I was going to die halfway through, but I huffed and puffed my way to the end. I made it as they were closing up the finish line with an embarrassing time of 1:20:52 and an average of 12:58 minutes per mile. My boyfriend ran back to me after he’d completed the run, cheering me on as I dragged myself through the finish line. It was such a happy moment for me to have accomplished something that until then seemed almost impossible.
Last year was even better. I beat my time by a 8 minutes with a total time of 1:12:44 and an 11:43/mile average. My boyfriend barely had time to turn around before I got to the final stretch. I was particularly proud because my time was significantly better than the previous year, while my boyfriend’s was slightly worse. Yep, I’m petty like that. He’s cool with it.
This year, running a 10K seemed easy. I’ve run a good half dozen of them now, both in official runs and on my own. My boyfriend had been joking that I’d probably beat him this year, given how rigorously I work out now and the fact that he hasn’t been exercising recently.
Yesterday morning as I hit the pavement I did my damnedest to try, and was able to beat him by three and a half minutes with a total time of 1:02:03 and an average of 10 minutes per mile on the dot.
I was hoping to complete the run in under an hour, but it just wasn’t in the cards. I know I pushed myself to the limit because right after I crossed the finish line, I nearly vomited. One of the staff started congratulating me on the run but I had to push past him to grab a glass of water and hightail it to the bathroom before I puked my guts out. Unfortunately, this prevented me from being there to watch my boyfriend cross the finish line while I
gloated cheered him on.
Yesterday, I was pretty damned proud of myself. It’s two years later. I’ve lost 20 pounds. I’ve become stronger, fitter, leaner, and have the best body I’ve ever had in my life. And I can’t wait to see what’s next.