I'm thankful for you

When my alarm went off yesterday for the Springdale Turkey Trot, my first post-injury 5K, I didn't want to go. Recovering from a stomach bug, busy with family and work, and pretty much dreading what seemed like the worst race course in the world -- out and backs on hills in the middle of cow pastures -- I was ready to hit snooze and forget the whole thing.

But then I thought of Jodi, a far-away cousin who says this little blog inspired her to start Couch to 5k. Like me, she was a self-proclaimed couch potato and running hater, and she's running her first race next weekend. And I thought of Chuck, a local Internet stranger turned friend who has sent me some of the nicest emails I've ever received in my life, telling me how my story gave him the confidence to run a half marathon. And I thought of Craig, my oldest friend, who called me a few weeks ago and said, "I just ran a trail race and it's all your fault. You make running sound all romantic, but this is hard!" And after blame was appropriately assigned, he started talking about his next race and dropping words like "half marathon."

I've said it before, runners are a special kind of people. We wave at each other on the road or give an understanding nod because we know each other's pain -- just like we know each other's joy when we do what we thought was impossible. We compete with each other, but never stop encouraging each other. I can't believe anyone would be inspired by my meager accomplishments and the kind words I've received from fellow runners, especially this year as I've struggled with injury, have inspired me more than you all could know.

So I got up and trotted myself a 5K, dragging along my favorite running buddy, and we crushed it. Trea and I finished in 31:42, only about 1:20 slower than my 5k PR. This is slow to a lot of folks, but I was just glad to finish. It was our longest run all year!

I had dreaded what I thought was an awful course, but the out and backs turned out to be really helpful in pushing through the pain. Even though we were on farm roads with nothing to see but cows, I was continually greeted by runners ahead of me or behind me, making their way to the turnaround. Even though I didn't know anyone, I was inspired to keep going. And at the second turnaround, I saw a tall stranger running toward me yelling, "Go Anna!" accompanied by a big smile and a high five. (My sincerest apologies to the girl who got smacked in the middle of that high five.) It was blog reader Chuck! We had only corresponded via email through the blog, and I knew he would be at the race, but I didn't expect to spot him in the crowd. He finished ahead of me and was at the finish line to cheer us on as we huffed and puffed to the end.

After we were finally formally introduced, he thanked me for writing about my story, and I felt so silly because I should thank HIM. Without accountability and encouraging words from folks like him, I might have given up a long time ago. So thank you, Chuck, Jodi, Craig and all my runner friends who haven't given up on me this year.

I'm humbled to know I've helped spread the running bug, but I can relate. I never thought I could run farther than a 5k until I read That Pink Girl, the Redhead and Chic Runner. Runnerds are an odd bunch, and I'm so thankful to be counted as one of them.

Bentonville Half, from the sidelines

Trea and I went to the Bentonville Half Marathon yesterday to cheer, even though I couldn't run. This is the biggest race in my area, and I ran it last year as my first half.

Head artist hard at work

I seriously considered staying home and feeling sorry for myself because sometimes I'm still incredibly sad about my stupid stress fracture. But then I remembered how I felt last year when people cheered for me, so I hobbled out to mile 10 on crutches and put on my biggest smile. 

This sign almost always gets a smile out of tired runners!

Yesterday was beautiful, but it was way too hot for March, and these runners were suffering. It was sunny, not much of a breeze and almost 80 degrees by 10:00. We went to the Slaughter Pen trail just after the 10 mile marker. Every runner I know HATES this part of the course. The first 9.5 miles are through town and neighborhoods on the street, where you at least have houses and cars to look at. But the last few miles are brutal -- on walking trails where you're less likely for you to see any spectators. Or anything at all. It's just a concrete path, grass and more grass. No shade and no distractions. This is the area last year where I wanted to lay down and die. Not only is it tough because it's near the end, but it's extra rough mentally. Oh, yeah, and the runners are greeted by a massive hill right at the end that brings people to their knees. It sucks.

My mom and dad cheered too!

So I think folks were extra happy to see us! Trea was honking a crazy bike horn because we couldn't find a cowbell, and I clapped till my hands went numb and yelled till I was hoarse. We had so much fun! I saw exhausted people coming over the bridge toward us, eyes glazed over, feet shuffling, and when they saw our silly sign and were startled by the bike horn, they perked up, smiled and picked up the pace. Tons of runners commented on Trea's sign, and I was surprised at how many strangers, huffing and puffing, used a precious breath to say, "Thank you for being here!" as they passed by. Runners are the BEST. 

Laura clapped for US as she zoomed by.

We saw Laura, Jennifer, Charles, Jessica (running her very first 13.1 ever! Woot!), and even a few folks from work who I didn't expect to see. There was a lady as old as my grandmother trotting along in a sparkly skirt, two girls dressed like Mario and Luigi -- mustaches and all -- a girl dressed like a bunny, and one dude wearing flip flops. But not Old Navy summer flip flops. I'm talking homemade sandals strapped to his feet by rope, Tarahumara style. He was so hard core that we couldn't even cheer for him. We all just froze, went silent and stared at his feet. True story. 

When the pack thinned out and we thought most of the last runners had made their way through, we packed up and went to the finish line to cheer for them all again at the top of the hill. I get choked up at every race when I see a runner spot the finish line. Or when a little kid runs in with a parent. There's just nothing else like it. We stayed and cheered for quite a while and hollered for some of the last people crossing the line. The ones who struggle and walk, they need encouragement the most. Believe me, I've been there. 

I had been dreading this day, worried about feeling jealous of my friends and sad that I was missing out. But I didn't miss out at all! We had a fantastic time, and it was an excellent reminder that I'm still a runner at heart, even if I'm not the one getting a medal. Running isn't just about running. It's about being part of a community; we celebrate successes together, but we also encourage each other through the hard parts. And I'll be out there next year, hoping there's someone to cheer for me. 

Running for Carson

When I decided I wanted to run a full marathon, people thought I was crazy. At the time, I was fresh off the high of running my first half marathon, and I felt like I could do anything. But 26.2 is serious business. I knew it would be hard, so I was selective about choosing my first race. I wanted a location that would have lots of crowd support, one without massive hills, and ideally, I wanted a race that means something to me. It's my first marathon; it's a big deal. And that's why I chose the St. Jude Memphis Marathon on Dec. 3.

St. Jude is a special place, and I'm thrilled to be able to support such a worthy cause if even just in a small way -- because St. Jude saved my family. My 8-year-old cousin, Carson, was treated there when he was a baby for a rare brain tumor. The medical care there rivals no other, and after months of harsh treatments, surgeries and therapy, Carson made a full recovery. 

 

But you'll notice I said St. Jude saved my family -- not just Carson. While he got the best treatment in the world, his tireless parents and his sweet twin brother had a place to live. They weren't left to find a hotel far away from their child in a city that was already far from their home; they were able to stay on the St. Jude campus with him...and remain the family they were so desperately trying to be. The beautiful thing about St. Jude is that no child is ever turned away for the inability to pay for treatment. So when families are living their worst nightmare, they can focus on the only thing that matters -- making sure their babies get better.

Carson's mom, my cousin Ginger, has been running the St. Jude Half Marathon for several years now as a St. Jude Hero. That means she puts together a team and raises money each year as a way to give back so other kids can have the treatment Carson received.

In fact, several members of my family take part in the weekend races -- in the 5K and family fun run. So when I decided to run a full marathon, I knew I wanted to run for Team Carson. I'm also running as a St. Jude Hero to raise money for the hospital.

I have a fundraising site HERE, and I hope you'll stop by and make a donation. All donations go directly to St. Jude. Every single one of us knows someone who has been impacted by cancer, and when children are the ones who are affected, it's absolutely heartbreaking. So please consider making a donation. Thanks in advance for your support.

We're in it together

Runners stick together. We form bonds and become part of a community without even realizing that it's happening.

Last week, when I had a mini-meltdown and threw myself a pity party, my runner friends came to my rescue. When I questioned everything that I'm doing, they -- you -- reminded me that everyone has rough moments, especially at the beginning of training. You reminded me that we're in this together and that all my exhaustion will be worth it when we cross the finish line in Memphis in December.

When I started running last year, I thought it was something I would do alone. It's not a team sport and it's up to me to decide when I run, how far and how fast. I thought it would be just me and the road. I couldn't have been more wrong. Through this blog, Twitter, Daily Mile -- the interwebs -- I have made new friends that have become dear friends. I've become part of the coolest club that's not a club. I am a runner.

On my early weekend long runs, I'm always struck by how many runners I see out on the road and how many of them smile, wave and say good morning, as though we know each other.

We know each other's pain.

Running is more difficult than anything I've ever attempted before. Physically, it's tough, and mentally, you learn what you're made of. You learn how to tell your brain to shut up when it's telling your legs to slow down or stop. And when you can't go any farther, another runner will be there to cheer you on. Because they know a day will come when they will need encouragement too.

So, thank you, runners. Thank you for reminding me that I'm strong enough to accomplish my goal. And thank you for reminding me that we're fighting the same battle -- on the same team.

My Dad

Don't you love those days when the good guy wins, hard work pays off and everyone lives happily ever after?

Today is one of those days. 

I haven't talked about my dad a lot here, but his story is what motivates me to keep going when things get hard. In April 2009, he was riding his motorcycle when he was hit head-on by a truck. At that moment, time stopped, and my happy family's world fell apart. He was air-lifted to a hospital over a hundred miles away, and he and my mom didn't see home again for six months.

He was unconscious for almost a week. He broke his jaw, crushed both wrists, and had multiple compound fractures in both legs. One hand was almost severed. The doctors said his right leg would likely need to be amputated. He woke up with no memory of the accident, with his teeth wired shut, breathing through a trache, and all four limbs bandaged so that nothing could move. He had no way to talk or communicate for several days. It was a nightmare.

He had multiple surgeries to repair his broken bones. All in all, he spent 100 days in the hospital and rehab. It was the longest summer of our lives. He endured unimaginable pain, and he handled it with the most grace I've ever seen. Even though he was miserable, he always smiled, said thank you and joked with his nurses. With my mom by his side, he worked. He was determined to get better, to learn to feed himself, to walk again. He spent night and day in bed, moving whatever he could move to regain the strength lost from weeks of immobilization. Six months after the wreck, he went home in a wheelchair with one leg still very broken.

After a year, he could stand up without help. He spent countless hours in physical and occupational therapy, pushing his body to get better. When his therapists said their job was done, he still wasn't satisfied with his progress. He could barely walk 10 steps unassisted. So he joined a gym and got a personal trainer. He fought and worked and never gave up, and he got rid of the wheelchair. After 18 months, the stubborn fracture in his leg finally healed.

When he got hurt, we thought he would never walk again. I thought he would never have a normal life. He's permanently disabled from this accident, but he's strong. He rebuilt his body, and now he can take care of himself, he can drive and he's independent.

And today, he walked a 5K. 

Everyone faces adversity at some point in their lives, and some people don't get a happy ending. But today, he did. He has amazed his doctors, and he continues to amaze me. I'm proud of you, Dad!