On Saturday (Apr. 29), I ran the Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon, which benefits St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. I’ve spent time at the hospital, twice, so when the CEO of St. Jude, Rick Shadyac, told a small group of us in January that Nashville’s marathon event was one of their biggest fund-raisers, I said I could run the half. I hadn’t really been running in five years, since Reagan was born, but it felt important to me to do it for all these children who are running a difficult race they never signed up for.
For St. Jude alone, it was more than worth it. I’m continually impressed by all everyone at St. Jude does for these kids. From providing transportation, valet parking, food and lodging for the family members, and an entire cutting-edge research facility, with doctors and scientists freely sharing all the information they discover in curing cancer and other life-threatening diseases, everything at St. Jude is top-notch. Walk through the hospital — where every day children are brought in who are told they are terminally ill — and you can feel the hope vibrating through the walls. I’m so glad I got to do something, even a little something, to join the awesome work of St. Jude.
But the race was important to me for another reason, too, which didn’t occur to me until a couple miles in. I was running up 17th avenue, with people all around me, and people cheering on both sides of the street, and I got a bit teary. I realized that this entire process — the training and the race — marked one of the first times in five years that I was doing something entirely for me. And it felt AWESOME.
To be clear, I’m not playing the martyr. I’ve done things for myself before: dinners out, shopping trips, even a quick trip to PA by myself in 2015. But as parents, both moms and dads, we, perhaps rightfully, put what we want on the back burner for the sake of our children. It’s part of being a parent. We can’t live for ourselves and take care of our children, so we pour out into our sons and daughters, knowing that this season is just that — a season that will gradually fade away.
When I agreed to do the half-marathon, it never occurred to me how much time it would take me away from my family, with the daily runs and long runs on Saturday. It didn’t occur to me how much it was going to cost, or the new sneakers and knee brace(s) I would have to buy (44-year-old knees are a lot different than 30-year-old knees, which is how old I think I was when I struggled through the full marathon almost a decade and a half ago). I just got caught up in wanting to do something good for a cause I believed in.
But as I was running up 17th, I realized how good — OK, how great — I felt to have done something for me, and something that didn’t involve my children. Selfish? Maybe slightly. But my husband, who was my biggest cheerleader through all of this, can attest to the fact that I’m happiest after a run. The days that I get a run in, even in a short one, have a clear line through them: before the run and after the run. The toys that lay all over the floor bother me a lot less after a run. The big bill that just arrived that we weren’t expecting seems much smaller after a run. The uncertainty of our future, and making big parenting decisions seem like not nearly as big of an issue after I’ve logged a few miles.
Running up 17th, I realized that somewhere in the last few months, I found myself again. I found the thing that makes me happy, and I did it. And I’m a much better person for it. Sure, I lost out on some time with my kids — everything we do as a parent will always be measured on a scale of what’s important for us versus what’s important for them — but I was a better mother to them because I did the thing that was important for me.
I finished the half, although not in the time I wanted. It was hot. So, so hot. I walked through all of the water stations, which lost time (but was necessary). I have four blisters on my feet, one which covers almost the entire side of my toe. My knee, which I sprained a couple weeks in to my training, began to hurt in mile 9, and kept hurting even after I crossed the finish line.
But as soon as I found my husband (who graciously got up early on the only morning all week he gets to sleep in, and drove me downtown, and then waited in the heat for me to finish), I told him I wanted to do it again. Even with the pain and discomfort, it still felt so good to have started and finished something that was just for me.
I’m going to keep running. Maybe not two-hour runs every Saturday, but I’m going to keep running, because those times away make me better for everyone around me. And I’m going to encourage my husband to find things to make him happy, even if they are away from us. (He did, fortuitously, get two tickets to the Nashville Predators play-off game the day after the race, so at least he got a little time for himself also).
Anyone want to join me in the half-marathon in 2018?
