Originally published on Salty Running.
I’ve been running for almost 10 years now. The best 10 years of my life, if you ask me.
Ten years of crazy, if you asked my family.
I lost count of the number of times my dad shook his head when someone asked me how far my next marathon was. Luckily, no one thought I’d ruin my knees, but almost everyone didn’t understand, or refused to understand, what kept me waking up early day after day, rain or shine, to run. At best it was a healthy habit gone too far. At worst it was symbolic of a chemical disruption in my brain.
In fairness, it is likely both.
But all this has changed. It started three or four years ago with my mother, who started running as a natural progression from her nearly life-long walking habit. As she progressed, we became the crazy ones in the family. Once my mother started running, it became less cool to ridicule my running habit. But it was still something that we did and they would never do. Ever.
And yet, I always hoped they might reconsider.
Almost as a joke, I reached out to my sister in late September to ask if she wanted to do the local turkey trot. Expecting to get a, “hell no,” I got an enthusiastic “yes!” Certain I was being punked, I pushed on, only to learn that my sister had been running in secret for the past few months. She’d already built up to a 5k!
And she agreed that she should train for the half-marathon. I agree to coach her to her first finish, the pressure on me building almost from the first minute I agreed to coach her. It wasn’t just fear that she might have a bad race, but the realization that if this half-marathon sucked, she might never want to race again! And I really wanted her to love running like I do.
I started sending her weekly training plans, using a walk-run method that reduced the mental pressure she felt when thinking about building up to running for more than two hours at one time. She was the best athlete I could have coached. She followed what I told her to do to a “T.” As her training progressed, and she ran for longer and longer, we decided to push my dad and youngest sister to do the 5k. They could walk we reasoned, and even push my niece, who would love being outside with all of the people.
About a month before the race, my sister’s partner decided to join us too! The only two not racing would be my mother (who was cooking Thanksgiving dinner) and my brother (who still thinks running is unhealthy, at least for my mother). I went into Thanksgiving week super excited — this was the first time in my life I’d entered a race with someone, and almost my entire family was running! It was a dream come true, and this was a dream I never ever thought was possible.
I had agreed to pace my sister to her finish, telling her when to walk, drink, and eat. Her partner decided to stick with us, to be with my sister.
Race morning, we headed to the start. And my sister and her partner, following about a run 15 minutes, walk 1 minute ratio, finished their first half-marathon strong. My dad and youngest sister, pushing my niece finished the 5k. This isn’t really a race recap, since it is their story to tell, but let it be said that everyone finished strong, my sister, her partner, and me finishing exactly at the time I predicted we would.
I’ve never been prouder in my life, and I’ve never enjoyed a race more, even the ones I’ve won.
What’s next?
I don’t know. I hope that this becomes a family Thanksgiving tradition. But maybe they will never race again. And that’s okay. Seriously. This was more than I ever thought was possible.
But when they are ready to race again, I’ll be here. Waiting.
ultrarungal 