Running: part 2

I just completed my second 5K of this spring, in under 29 minutes! My goal was to do two 5Ks this spring. And I did. With flying colors!
Today my average pace was a 9:33 mile, which is amazing for me, considering when I started running last year I averaged a 11-12 minute mile.
I know, for those who run marathons and can run a 5K with their eyes closed, this may seem like no big deal. But for me, this is a challenge I gave myself, and completed. I wanted to prove myself I could do it. That I could run a 5K. And, perhaps more importantly, run a 5K after breast cancer.
I push myself everytime I go running, and push myself harder during an actual race. I run around parks and our neighborhood with Sean, and push myself then, because I know in the end I'll be happy I did.
So running a 5K is not easy for me ... at all. I struggle. It's hard. But there are a few things that keep me going, and one of those things is knowing how absolutely AMAZING I'll feel when it's over.
During my race I try to envision the finish line - when I get that boost, that "runner's high" and my legs and feet start flying in front of me and I feel like I'm running on marshmellows and the whole world is cheering me on. I envision that moment - at the end. Because I know when I get there I'll be so proud of myself. The natural high at the end of a race is out of this world. How I feel now, that I'm showered and clean and fed and hydrated - is amazing.
There are also two mantras I say to myself over and over again during a race, especially when it gets really hard. One of those is something my mom told me during Leukemia treatment. (I wrote about this in my first "running" blog post last year.) When I feel like I can't, I tell myself I already am. "I can't do this" in my head is quickly replaced by, "but I already am."
The second is the famous "If you're going through hell keep going." Sounds cliche, but it works. I use this at very difficult parts of my life when I feel like I'm drowning in a whirlpool of sadness or confusion or depression. I tell myself the only way to get out of it is to keep moving forward. As I write that last sentence I realize it's been a really long time since I've felt I was a snail in a whirpool (remember those posts?).
The beginning of a race is easy for me. I'm motivated, I'm running fast, I'm blasting my music and I'm pumped. I'm surrounded by the other runners and get motivation from them. I want to keep up with them or even surpass them. I feel we are all a team. I'm running WITH them - they are my support and they keep me going. (When I see an older man or woman running faster than me WHILE pushing a baby in a stroller I do get a little depressed ...)
The middle of a race is the ABSOLUTE worst. Like today. At the turn-around point I was so proud of myself I had already completed half of the race, but I was not expecting a skinny, slippery mud path that led into a very, very big grassy hill. After that hill (running on grass is so much more trying than on gravel, and takes so much more out of you), I was spent. My breathing was rapid and my legs hurt and I knew I still had halfway to go. When I get to these moments I take a deep breath and close my eyes for just a second. When I open them again I have just a little more stamina.
It's a mind game. When I feel like I've hit the wall in the middle of the race I have all these negative thoughts, like I have a cramp, I should just walk right now, I can't do this, etc. I tell myself to forget them immediately and concentrate on running, and that the next time those thoughts come to me I'll be farther along in the race. I ask myself: how would I feel if I walked right now? I'm running for ME. I don't want to let myself down. I want to be proud of myself. So then I push.
What helps get rid of those negative thoughts is remembering other times I've run (in a race or with Sean around our neighborhood), I was able to forget them and keep going.
The end of the race is the best. When my RunKeeper tells me it's been 20 minutes, or I've gone 2.8-some miles I know I am nearing the end. I push and push and push until I see the finish line. And when the finish line is in view, that's when I fly on marshmellows. That's when I know I did it. That's when I know I've accomplished something great. That's my natural high.
And when I finish I don't think about the breast cancer and I don't think about running after breast cancer, or about the prosthesis in my sports bra. I think: I just ran a 5K. It sounds simple, but maybe that's because it is.
Or maybe because it's one more reason and one more time I can say: "I did it."