The miracle isn't that I finished...

...the miracle is that I had the courage to start. -John Bingham (Completed over 40 Marathons)

It's a miracle that I am a runner.
I never thought I'd be a runner.
Moreso, I never thought I'd feel this terrible when the ability to run was taken away from me.

I did not participate in traditional athletic activities as a youth. I danced. 5 days a week, 2-3 hours a night. That was enough for me to be long and lean. But three children later, I'm soft. Not just mushy fat but soft in determination and discipline. When I turned 30 I realized that I had spent my 20's being pregnant, bearing children and nursing said children. My body was not my own. I want to be strong. I want to be fearless. I think that's what runners are. Strong because they know their sport requires immense preparation. Fearless because they set out at the beginning of a race and know they are going to finish it.

It took me 5 months to train for my first race. It was suppose to take 3. At the beginning I could only run for 30 second intervals spaced 3 minutes apart. Before my first race I hadn't actually ran 3 miles straight. I was up to 2.75. I decided it was now or never. I decided to run in whatever race was next. Being the dead of winter, choices were slim. I picked the "Love'em or Leave 'em 5k." I recruited my husband, his brother Morgan and a great friend to come be my witnesses. Like the proverbial "tree falls in the forrest"...if no one sees Erika run, did it actually happen? I was not extraordinary. I ran a 12.5 min mile. But my goal was to run the entire time. I didn't want to walk even one second of the race. People passed me. But guess what? I passed people. Other friends I saw there ended up walking, which was great for them, but I needed to run.

And you know what? I did it.

With the help of my husband and his hand pressed on the small of my back, I did what I set out to do. My dear friend Jacqui pulled into the parking lot just in time to see me cross the finish line. She jumped out of the bushes a mere 15 feet from the end and screamed "GO ERIKA! GO ERIKA!" It was incredible and I literally balled as I crossed the finish line. I am balling now remembering how badly I wanted to quit and how much it meant for Jacqui to come see me run my first race.



The week before I broke toe I logged 19 miles running. And I mean full running. No walking when I felt tired. I was training for my first half-marathon in January 2012 (why I like to run in winter is beyond me). My first 10k was suppose to be in October. I was devestated when I broke my toe. How can something so small cause such searing pain? I've been unable to wear closed-toe shoes for 5 weeks. For those who know how I feel about flip flops at church, you know how hard it was for me to not be able to wear my beautiful heels and strappy sandles. But the shoes I've been saddest to neglect are my running shoes.



Hello girls.
Today, I ran again.