Finisher.

I was that kid. A cynic at 8. The one who scoffed at the concept of participant ribbons. I remember so clearly conversations as a child to that note. I wasnt always on top but i studied hard, practiced hard and usually came in closer to the top than the bottom. In situations that wasnt the case, such as band which i hated, I still didnt want a participant ribbon and thought it was stupid.

Fast forward twenty years and i find myself signing up for a 5K. Now there are some important facts to consider when knowing this. First of all I am fat. I know people dont like that word but its true. I struggle with my weight and no euphemism will change the bottom line. And fat kids dont run. At least that is what i learned as an overweight adolescent. As i ran through my neighborhood as my personal training for soccer- which i would excel in- a car full of high school kids pointed out the windows at me and jeered at the “fat kid trying to run.” The next thing to know is when i clicked on the “sign up” button it was approximately 40 hours prior to the race and i would be working 12 of those hours and hopefully sleeping another 10 or so. So lets just say there was zero training or preparation. And i dont walk into a situation i dont think i can be successful at. Well until race day. Two other considerations are my knees. Two knee surgeries and no meniscus later the doc said no Refit, no soccer and no running. Finally, I don’t like running. Unless its to chase after a soccer ball I think it is pointless and mind numbing. Yet I hit the submit button.

I hit the submit button to challenge myself. But i also hit the submit button for unwanted babies. I was one. My mother told me on a regular basis that she regrets not doing what her mother told her to do when she found out she was pregnant. To "just get rid of it." This run would raise money for the lives of other little babies, to give them a chance.

So I went to work Friday and came home to rest at the least in preparation which really looked like frantic tossing and turning all night long. I drug myself out of the bed and drove downtown wearing my best attempt at running clothes. As I pulled into the parking lot I felt a sudden rush . . . a need to vomit. I looked around at all of the muscular runners with their little shorts and knew I didn’t belong here. But I got out of the car and wandered through the staging area until I found myself at the place to pick up my race packet. As I walked back to my car to put up what I didn’t need and gear up with not one but two knee braces, I found tears welling up in my eyes. I don’t know exactly what that was about other than I felt crazy for being there and scared to death. I didn’t belong there and didn’t even know if I would make it all the way through. How shameful would it be to have to call my friend to come get me somewhere along the way. My decision at this point was to get in my car, drive home and go back to bed. I really thought about it. Justified that no one would know, the organization raised its money and I wouldn’t be seen as weak and a failure.

Next thing I knew, however I was standing in a crowd of people who were at the starting line of the race. AND GO! I was off. Somehow in the midst of this place I knew I shouldn’t be while at the same time filled with a twinge of excitement as I kept pace towards the front of the group. But I quickly grew tired and slowed my pace.

My GOAL: To finish.

As the race continued I walked and jogged intervals. I felt like I was making progress. Still hanging out in the front half of the group although the distance was lengthening. As I felt the distance growing behind me I would look back to see if I was the last one. And I wasn’t! With the pressing on and notice of the many people behind me, my goal changed.

My GOAL: To not be the last one across the finish line.

Now there was never a thought of winning this race, let me be clear. But I found two ladies who seemed to be the fastest power walkers I had ever seen. As I would speed up into a run I would pass them by. But I only have two speeds- run and walk very slowly. On the walking portion of the interval they would then pass me up. Then I would have the energy to run and pass them by again. This occurred for some time. So I decided I would compete with them. Only personally of course. But I would never let them get so far ahead that I couldn’t catch up.

As I ran and people passed by me a jeered to myself. I decided if they weighed approximately the same as two pregnant men they wouldn’t be running so fast. I felt justified.

My GOAL: Cross the finish line in front of the power walkers.

As the race continued it wasn’t easy but I was doing it. I proudly grabbed Gatorade and water from the volunteers who stood on the sides of the path passing out refreshment. And again the unemotional person I am, I felt emotions rising up in me. This time good ones. I was being cheered on. I wasn’t going to win but people I didn’t know were there cheering on the runners and I was one of them.

My GOAL: TO FINISH.

As the bridge that would take me to the finish line came into sight I began to know I could do this. For the first time in the race. Then I got to the bottom of the bridge and had a steep climb to get to the bridge. Well played race planners. My legs were noodles and tired but I slowly trudged up the slope losing distance on my power walking competition. But when I reached the bridge I gave it one more push and ran the entire bridge. Which again for a fat kid was a run! In fact, when I got to the end of the bridge there was about 15 more feet to the finish line which I then walked to!

But there I was! At the finish line. In front of the power walkers and not dead last. I finished!

My GOAL: Accomplished.

Then I was handed my medal. The finisher medal. Not first, second or third. Just FINISHER. And yet it brought this amount of pride to my heart that I could never explain. I was reminded of my distaste for this type of awards but somehow this was different. This medal said I pushed through something hard. Something I shouldn’t be able to do. Something im not good enough for. Something I didn’t think I could do. Something others said I couldn’t do. Something that other peoples choices and actions towards myself and my body said I would never be able to do.

Then I realized that “just finishing” isn’t so bad. Crossing that finish line is a huge feat. In this race and the other races in my life. In our lives. On our paths to the final finish line of life we run many races. Some sprints and some marathons and triathalons. I might not be the fastest or strongest but I have crossed many finish lines. You probably have too! But how many times do we look behind and recognize the finish that we just achieved? I press on as I should. But I learned today. At a little 5K race called the Human Race that Finishers should get prizes. Its easy to give up. To turn back. To just sit in the middle of the track, exhausted. But we are strong and we press on and FINISHING is medal worthy!