Post 5k Reflection

And after it was all over, I stood in my kitchen and cried.  Tears of joy, pain, pride, amazement, sorrow…letting go.  I had stepped out of the imaginary “protective layer”, out of my comfort zone, and achieved something amazing. 

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I didn’t know that when I set out to find myself again that it wasn’t going to be this straight shot, “there I was, here I am” kind of thing.  “I’ll just go back to being able to be me again,” I had always told myself.

I was having kids, giving myself up was part of that, and as soon as it was over, I’d just go back to how I used to be before we got married—when I took care of myself.  And for the most part, between the kids, I did get back into decent shape but mentally…mentally I hadn’t made the journey.

Something happened to me 7 years ago that shook me to my core.  I don’t know if it was a combination of stress at work, losing my grandmother, my dad’s cancer scare or the fact that we had just decided to start a family but…I lost it.  The confident, independent, fun, up for anything Annie was buried underneath “life is happening” and resulted in anxiety and heart palpitations, unexplained headaches and depression and a complete and total loss of confidence.  Add an extra 30lbs to that and it was a recipe for self-destruction. 

I kept it together.  Sometimes.   I spent a better part of 3 months taking anxiety pills a few times a week.  What was I anxious about? I have no idea.  I spent a summer not able to drive because when I did, I would have panic attacks.  Not about driving but I just didn’t’ feel well and would feel like I was passing out and the attack would start.  I finally figured out that some of it was related to my neck. 

And then I was walking around with the pills in my purse “just in case” for over a year…because I didn’t trust myself.

It wasn’t all terrible, though.  In the right environments or with the right people, I was me.  Shiny, happy, smart, funny, silly, energetic, laughing ‘til I can’t breathe, ME.  But by myself?  No, I couldn’t do “alone”.  The thought made me feel lightheaded. 

When I ran my first 5k, just about 4.5 years ago, I had to take an anxiety pill to work up the nerve to walk to the park and stand there by myself until the race started, and face the race.  (I was also dealing with jaw pain and headaches and the pill helped me from making that a bigger deal than it needed to be—I was clenching my jaw from stress, I wasn’t dying from some kind of blood clot or brain tumor.) I remember walking up to check in and they asked me what size shirt I wanted.  I went with an XL, praying it would be big enough and laughed that “I like my shirts roomy.” Fake smile.

My husband and 11 month old daughter, my parents, niece and nephew were on the race course cheering me on and I didn’t bother staying for any awards because I knew I was pretty much almost dead last in the whole thing. 

And all of this is to say that I ran a 5k on Saturday. 

I woke up, got ready, had a shake for breakfast, put on my shoes, grabbed my rain jacket, looked in on my family and left.  I had casually mentioned “hey you can take pics of me running by the house if you want to!” the night before.  (The race goes by my house.) My husband did come to the door and wave as I was backing out of the garage. 

I arrived at the park, grabbed my stuff, walked up, checked in and looked around at the basket raffle they were having—maybe there was something interesting.  I bought some tickets, chatted with folks, explained the route to runners who hadn’t run in this location before and walked to the starting line when they said it was time.  I queued up my music, set my Fitbit and off I went.  No cheering squad, no hand holding, no anxiety meds…just me.  Alone.  By myself.  In a sea of 60 people running in the pouring rain to raise money for a scholarship for students perusing early childhood education in memory of a woman lost her battle with breast cancer.

And when I crossed the finish line, there was no one there to cheer me on or run me in.  And I didn’t care.  I was there.  I did it.  I ran me in. 

I made my way back to the pavilion to grab a water and wait for the results.  I sat on a bench, alone.  I had my water and snack.  The people I had met before the race came up to say hello, ask how I did, etc.  Then the paper went up on the pavillion post…I checked my results.  I placed.  I laughed hysterically. 

The last mile, my shoes were so heavy, my legs were stiff and cold and I placed.  Sure, there are some logistics here about how I managed to place first in my age group….but let’s just ignore that for now.  I placed.  I ran my little heart out in the pouring rain, beat my PR by 5 minutes and I placed.
It was at about this point that they called my name.  I was still laughing when I accidentally walked passed the young man who was handing out the medals and stood in front of this crowd of strangers and said “Where do I go?” and then I saw the young man, tucked under a big speaker and 10 feet behind me, sheepishly grinning at me as he realized he let me walk right by him.  Then I waved to everyone and gave a big “HI EVERYONE!” and picked up my medal as I walked back into the crowd.

When it was over, I got in my car and I went home.  My 5 year old was on the couch.  “I won first place in my age group!”, I exclaimed.  “YOU DID?! MOMMY YOU WON!!!!” and her eyes were wide and her jaw dropped open and she sat there looking at me with her big eyes with such pride and excitement.  I am a positive role model.  I am shaping her future.

I headed to the bathroom to peel off my soaking wet clothes and sneakers.  The shower felt amazing.   Not only because it was warm against my cold, stiff muscles but because I had earned it.

And after it was all over—after I showered and change my clothes—I stood in my kitchen and cried.  Tears of joy, pain, pride, amazement, sorrow…letting go.  I had stepped out of the imaginary “protective layer”, out of my comfort zone and achieved something amazing. 

It is as if as I ran, I washed away the pain I was holding on to, the Annie who had given up so much of herself, was being shed and the new Annie was emerging and breaking through the  “I can’ts” of the last few years with each step.  And now, here I was, in my kitchen, with a medal and a size M t-shirt that was a little too big.

I ran a 5k on Saturday.  And it changed my life. 

And I’m not at the end of my journey of figuring out who I am and I’m so thankful. 

Goodbye the old Annie...Hello to "the real Annie"