My Lucky Day

Thanks to a wonderful mother who raised me to believe that I was the prettiest, smartest, best person to ever live I have grown to be extremely competitive by nature. From the moment I was born all I ever heard was how lovely I was, as any doting parent should tell their child. So, imagine my surprise when I started middle school about one foot taller than everyone else (boys included) and this weird combination of being skinny and huge at the same time. Wearing my duck head shorts and rusty t-shirt I thought I was awesome and later found out, I wasn't. Somewhere in those lost middle school years I had to make a decision; Cry about it and let others dictate the way I feel about myself or continue to believe that I am awesome. I chose the later. Thanks Mom.

So anyway, here I am 15 years later and if a camera is around I still stop to pose like I am at the end of a catwalk. These days my husband has replaced my Mama as my roommate but thankfully continues to make my feel like one in a million. This glowing self-esteem isn't without its downfalls... I am really hard on myself. I don't like to lose or ever feel like I could have done something better. I want to be the best at everything and I actually get pissed off when I'm not. Yep, I said it out loud.

Last spring was the first time in 2 years that I wasn't pregnant or had just given birth. So, I took full advantage and got into tip top fighting shape. Everything was almost perfect with one exception, The Shamrock 10K. It isn't just a 6.2 mile run, it is the 10K of death. The hills are killer and the climbs in between seem to last forever. When I first practiced the course last year it took something crazy like an hour and twenty minutes (I did get lost and added an extra mile or two, but still.) On race day in 2010 I finished in 1:05:52 and almost threw up at the finish line. I felt like Micheal Scott when he finished that 5K for rabies on The Office and ate so much fettuccine and no water. It was officially my worst race ever and it has haunted me for a year.

I began practicing for this years race in January. I ran the course in rain and ice. One day my lips started bleeding from the blistering winds. I ran with a friend who is way faster and every single time thought to myself, I am never running with him again. I pushed it as hard as I could and only got under an hour one time. Which is crazy, because I even ran faster per mile in the Asheville Half than that. What is it with this course?

So this past Saturday was the big day. Time to redeem myself. And when I say that I am competitive yes, I like to beat other runners, but when I am running the only person I am competing against is myself. It's all about self-improvement and being better than the day before. I put on all my lucky, green shamrock gear (If I can't win the race there was always the costume contest, right?) and headed over to Asheville Catholic School. I realized on the way there that I had forgotten my watch. Oh well, the finish line would have to be a surprise. I took off with the gun and ran down Kimberly really fast. I was thinking the whole time, "I am running too fast. I won't be able to make it up Cherokee. Slow down." but I just kept going fast anyway. Then when I reached Cherokee (hill to heaven) it was literally like downshifting in my little Red Jetta. I kept running but everything was in slow motion and seemed much heavier. I said a little prayer of thanks when I reached the top and took off up Sunset. And to be clear, sunset sucks. It is a such fake out because you can't see the actual elevation change (like on Cherokee) but it just keeps going and going and hurting an hurting. My ipod fell out of my ear at one point and the sounds I heard around me were like people gasping for their last breaths. The way I personally sounded made me grateful that the money I payed to the race went to people who were hopefully praying for me. The downhill portion didn't come soon enough or last long enough before I was pulling myself up that ginormous hill on Kimberly wondering what the outcome was going to be. On one hand I felt slow and like I was near death and on the other I knew I had given it everything I had. No matter what the outcome I couldn't have done any better and was already planning next years attack strategy when I rounded the corner and could see the clock. 55 something. What? I ran up the hill on Culvern with a new burst of life and a giant smile. Granted, it must've said 55:50 something because by the time I crossed the finish line it was 56:07, 9 minutes and 45 seconds faster than last years time. I won. Now what?