run, Rachel, run

I've never been much of an athlete.

In high school I joined the track team because it was the only sport that didn't have tryouts, and the only reason I joined the team was so that I could earn a letter for my jacket. Even then, I hated the running part. Oh, the irony. I threw shotput and discus, and I threw my little heart (and hip! ouch!) out for four years, but never managed to be good enough to win my coaches' affections.

In the eight years since high school, I've had a tumultuous relationship with running.

Running does something to me. It makes me feel strong and powerful, even if only in my head.

Running also makes me want to die.

There was a time in my life when the thought of running any sort of race was just ridiculous.

But then, something happened.

Eleven months ago, I found myself surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses ... and by that I mean my two best friends Megan and Katrina. I had also reached a point of desperation and frustration in discovering I'd reached my highest weight since arriving in Germany. Something had to change. 

It started in September with a harmless 7 kilometer stretch in the Basel Marathon. I tentatively trained for it with the girls, unsure whether I would be able to run the whole distance (I didn't). The training was painful but the race was, surprisingly, kind of fun. Megan stayed in my line of sight the entire time, which helped me stay focused. I was also pleasantly surprised and encouraged when I neared the finish line and there was a huge crowd of friends cheering us on. I was pretty proud of myself, but I was even prouder of my friend Katrina, who at the same time was running her first half marathon! Later that night pictures started popping up on Facebook of our exciting day. I've never been one to "untag" pictures of myself on Facebook, but I was so repulsed by the pictures of myself that I actually untagged pictures my friends had posted of me. I couldn't celebrate my victory because I was embarrassed by how unhealthy I'd allowed myself to become.

A few months later, a huge group of us decided to sign up for the Freiburg relay marathon. There would be four runners per team, two running 7 kilometers and two running 14 kilometers. I committed to a 14K leg, reasoning that I already knew I could run 7K and I needed to "challenge myself." Ha. 

To say that the weeks leading up to our April 7 race were challenging would be an understatement. Every time I went out for a run, I faced a relentless internal battle in which I fought the lie that I was going to fail. But in the meantime, I was building endurance and finally beginning to see progress. There was the run in which I realized I had run an entire 5K without stopping. There was the first time I ran all the way to Wittlingen without stopping (a neighboring town 7K away). There was the time when I ran and talked nonstop for a whole thirty minutes and wasn't dying. There was also the time when my new running pants fell down mid-run, the time that I played chicken with a half-dozen tractors, and the time that we got caught in rain that fell so hard it felt like tiny daggers were piercing our faces. But all the while, I was gaining strength and losing weight.

April 7th instilled in me a whole new feeling of dread. I had gotten pretty sick a few weeks before the race so my final training plans were derailed, and I wasn't able to mentally prepare myself for the actual race day. I know for a fact that Megan wanted to strangle me no less than fifteen times during the run because of my constant complaining. It was probably my worst run, ever. After passing my timing chip on to Katrina, I literally collapsed in the middle of the road and cried out, "Never again!!"

My relay team, minus one who left early

THE NEXT DAY one of my student's parents approached me to congratulate me on my run and handed me a pamphlet on an upcoming race - a half marathon that ran though Germany, France, and Switzerland. One might think, after my horribly painful previous day, that I would have tossed this idea without giving it a second thought.

One might think.

Instead of running away, I decided that very day that I needed to run this race. NEEDED to. Why? Why? Why did I think this was necessary?

Over the next month I wavered on my decision, but deep down I knew this was happening. I was about to join the ranks of crazy people who run long distances for fun and collect race shirts like merit badges.

And somewhere along the way, running became fun again. I looked forward to it because I had built up the endurance to do it without dying, even though I announced my impending death on every run - usually near the Holzen hill. What's more, our long runs became a valuable time for us to process together the things we were dealing with: our students, our families, and of course, guys!

May 26 was the first race day that had ever started with me NOT dreading the race. In fact, I felt pretty good about it.

Oh hey, just running a half marathon today! 

Once the race began, all I could think about was the finish line. But my great cloud of witnesses had gone to great lengths to keep me distracted and encouraged and before I knew it, we had finished a third of the race and found ourselves nearing a large, screaming mass of children.

Yes, a group of our students had come to Basel to cheer on the runners and hand out water, and when they realized that three of their teachers were fast approaching, their screams became a deafening roar. They ran towards us and then turned to run alongside us clapping, cheering, and splashing us with water. I suddenly found a spring in my step and *gasp* a smile on my face!

From there, the rest of the race was a mental battle, one which we fought with talk of massages, chocolate milk, and other delicious food items. There was also the required throwing up of hands and nodding of heads every time Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA" appeared on our playlist. Thankfully the hip pain that had plagued me during training was non-existent - a true answer to prayer. When we neared the end I found the adrenaline rush that everyone always talks about but I had never experienced. Katrina and Megan each grabbed one of my hands, and we sprinted to the finish line together. The feeling that surged through me as I crossed the finish line was unlike anything I've ever experienced in my entire life. I was bursting with pride yet also in total shock at what I had just done. And in keeping true to form, I collapsed on the ground in a coughing fit. "Don't worry," I said between coughs to our friends Hunter and Tommy, who looked on with concern, "This is normal." 

Celebrating at the finish line

I got my free shirt!

Did I mention how awesome my friends are??

So, let's recap.

Eleven months ago I hated how unhealthy I'd become and I hated running.

I ran seven, then fourteen, then twenty-one kilometers.

Now I love how I feel, and I might even love running. 

Or at the very least, I love to hate it.

(and in case you're wondering, I lost twenty-five pounds)

Now everyone wants to know when will I run my first marathon.

My answer, in haiku form:

NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE

NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE

NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE