My dad wore a yellow wind breaker and a white nike hat to every high school track meet I ran. My eyes scanned the crowd every time I went to the start line; yellow jacket… check, white hat… check, stop watch… check. My best race was at the subsection finals in the 300 meter hurdles. My heart could burst remembering how proud my dad was of me.
Running has always been a sport of guts, determination, (not enough training, ever) and whole lot of emotion. I’ve run 12+ races as an adult and things haven’t changed.
Phoenix Marathon was Saturday. This race, last year was the last thing I did with my brother, Trevor, before he passed away one month later. I never knew a race could mean so much.
I know I haven’t reached my potential as a runner. I plan to someday. I’ve always been too busy or lazy or preoccupied to really give the sport 100%. But as I sit here and look at my pile of medals I’m so glad I didn’t wait until I could do it perfectly. Life is happening now and while I haven’t been fast my legs still went the distance.
A lot of my friends run and most of my family does too. I’ve never been in a race without at least one of them. Doing hard things with people ties you together in a way that sunshine and rainbows never could. Sign me up to do hard things with my people, because they matter.