Posted by: rocketbride | June 3, 2014

women’s run completed

Now that I’m into my second year of entering races, I sometimes feel like I can’t be surprised (except by my own ingenuity in finding a public bathroom along a race route). One of the greatest thing about starting running classes again this winter was that I got in with a great group of women who want to race with me. Getting into running, I backlashed from the constant group management of ATS; running was supposed to be my lone wolf sport. And for the most part I can take or leave the social aspect of running: I enjoy the motivation of a group, but I can run by myself.

So it’s been humbling to discover how much better I feel running in a group. Even if we don’t do the race together, at least I get a ride with people who are as jittery as myself, and who don’t need to be entertained during the run (Wiener Town, I’m looking in your direction). When it’s over high-fives abound, I don’t have to share my snacks, and I’m around people who are just as red-faced as I. There is, dare I say it, sisterhood. It’s a good thing.

lisa, sandra, tammy, me, emily and alex: successful racers at the oakville run for women 2014

lisa, sandra, tammy, me, emily and alex: successful racers at the oakville run for women 2014

Not only was I humbled by these fast women, these ladies with whom I run down the sun, but I was also humbled by the response to my fundraising letter. I don’t often fundraise for myself, because I don’t want to tire out my friends with all the races and appeals. I almost didn’t make it this time, either – only a last-minute thought got my message composed and out to my people.

The responses were overwhelming. Women who pledged support even though I may not connect with them for weeks on end. Men silently throwing money in the pot. Other women telling me heartbreaking stories of their own suffering, pain they were trying to hold back from destroying their families. Two of my uncles donated lavishly. St. Stephen tossed in money from Japan, commanding me to deliver a PB (sadly I did not). Amelie donated race winnings from a race she had completed on the same day as mine. It’s been two days since I crossed the finish line, and people are still coming up to me to talk about my depression, and their stories.

It’s enough to make my shrivelled black misanthropic heart grow three sizes. And it reminds me that I have never for a single moment ran alone.


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