All the feelings of running.

...Cool.
I am runner? It is hard for me to even believe it but I am a runner now. Last year I got myself to be able to run a 5K, solid. I was proud and it felt good. Then when Ben and I were engaged he told me that he had a goal to run a marathon. He had just finished a first year of a huge life turn-around and I marveled (still do) at his passion and ability to take life by the helm. He is remarkable. I decided to join him in his next plan and sign up for a half marathon while he did the full thing. So we started training.

We began following Hal Higdon's marathon training, and at the end of week one we nervously began our runs. Lengths beating anything either of us had done in the past-- and we finished! We continued to follow the plan and in the last couple weeks I was in awe of Ben as he finished a 20 mile run and watched myself finish more than 11 miles without stopping. I couldn't believe that it was us.

We made time for running. We ran late, early, in the rain, in the unfathomable heat, and freezing cold mountain. We were late to events so we could run together and it was fun. It was empowering. It was sweet. I loved getting so disgustingly sweaty and looking ugly and seeing Ben at the end of each run and hearing him tell me how beautiful I am. I loved feeling like I could do anything! As I pushed myself to finish each run and felt on top of the world.

...Nice.
As we became part of the running community, it was like becoming part of a new family. One that constantly wanted me to be better and finish anything I started. We had people yelling encouraging things at us as they run or drive past. A couple of women that passed me running down Cottonwood canyon saw me as we were getting ready as the race began and ran up to me in excitement and cheered me on. We were part of a family.

...Sad.
People were awesome.
And then there are a few that ruin all of it.
I got a water bottles chucked at me from the side of the road. I got called a "fat bitch," "fat ass," and to "run bitch." It was overwhelmingly hard to feel like someone knocked every single ounce of self-esteem out of you in one swing of words. When only moments before I felt confident and strong. When only moments before I felt beautiful and empowered. And then one moment of gross. One moment of someone making a choice that I only hope that less than second later they regretted. I fantasized that the person they were with would pull over, drag them back to me and apologize to me and my sweat and tear soaked face.

I didn't-I don't understand why people say mean things. Do you not think I know I am fat or that I have a fat ass. But, bitch? I strive to be a decent human that is working on those stubborn lipids. Those words did not help. They always hurt. Always.

Every single one of the times I ran faster and harder to stop myself from curling up in a ball on the side of the road... but it didn't stop me from crying (hard) and reliving every negative thing that everyone has ever said about myself like acid reflux from hell burning scars into my heart.

Remember the next time you think that you are making someone stronger by saying something mean. It may, but it breaks us on the way.

It is so easy to let the few soiled people be the only thing you remember among the millions of amazing ones.

...Strong.

Among all the feelings I felt over the the last year of running, strong is the the thing I loved feeling the most. I didn't love running. It was a mental war each time I put one foot in front of the other, but it was a war I won. I never ran fast. It was comical how slow I was, but I felt amazing and stronger than I have ever felt with each moment I kept going.

The race was spectacular. It was early as sin. It was cold as hell itself. I woke up constipated... lovely.

We began running.

I plodded along with my trusty running mix thanks to Caprene mostly.

I kept a steady pace and used every since portable restroom during the race. Luckily I didn't have any horrifying poo stories, but (I'm about to get explicit) as I was running I was worked it all out. Literally. Hysterical.

It was exhilarating. Ben started at the top of the canyon, so at one point he passed me and he stopped and ran with me briefly before continuing on his much longer race.

And I just kept going. And going. And going.

And then people started cheering, and I couldn't cry or I felt my whole body would abandon me. So I kept it together and focused on the road and kept running.

And then I saw the finish line and it was like so far away. . . sigh.

And then it was close. And it was over. And it felt wonderful. And also... sore.

But mostly powerful and wonderful.

Everytime I saw a camera, I smiled. Smiling while running does make it easier. For REAL. 

Ben is a stud. 

Right before the race. eeeeeeee, here we go.

Funny signs along the road.

FINISHED. and alive, barely.