I moved to Little Rock in the summer of 2005. It was the dawning of my adulthood, a challenging season comforted by weary legs and steep hills. I was a recent college graduate and an inexperienced apartment dweller living by myself – as such, defeating a longtime fear – and thought I might as well face another. So, I ran.
A few work-related friends lived in town, but mostly my companions were a good book, a yellow Labrador puppy and The O.C.’s now dearly departed cast. Next up: the treadmill. I was familiar with the wood floors of a basketball court, the dirt of a diamond and on some level the concrete of a tennis court. But not a treadmill, and certainly not the pavement. Yet I dramatically huffed and puffed through one mile, claiming magnificent victory, and began recruiting for a 2006 Little Rock Marathon relay team.
Those lonely evenings were spent stretching; reading about hamstrings, calves and sore knees; and researching proteins and carbohydrates in preparation for race day. I cherished this new friend, who taught me the kinds of lessons you learn from someone unafraid of living at the fullest capacity: self-discipline, perseverance, confidence and, most importantly, the courage to embrace all three.
Also, because my running has always been a bit more lumbering and a little less breezy, I found that slow and steady may not win the race, but they do move you closer to the finish line. I plodded along during my leg of the relay and passed a young girl who stood on a curb yelling: “Yay for strong women!” I didn’t look around at the great number of marathoners and half-marathoners passing me by. I knew this little angel of a girl was talking to me.
A few months later my long-distance boyfriend moved to town. The day he proposed, I ran 10 miles. While planning the wedding, I ran a half-marathon, training for the 13.1 miles with the help of the River Trail and the Big Dam Bridge. My 2006 relay team reunited for Little Rock’s 2009 marathon after I gave birth to a son three months earlier. That Sunday in March, I struggled to complete the 5.3 miles but placed my medal around my little boy’s neck. My journey into motherhood was yet another life milestone defined by a number, and this time it represented affection and responsibility: “My son deserves a healthy mother, doesn’t he?” – a cadence that continues to set my pace.
The Capital City Classic 10K on April 3 was my most recent event, a once-daunting 6.2-mile distance that reminds me to never fear what I haven’t yet achieved, that every day carries with it the potential for you and me to develop more fully in brave new ways. I hope that I am always growing, because otherwise I’d have no reason to run.