Skip to main content

race you

I played sports in high school. JV tennis and varsity soccer. But no one I graduated with would call me an athlete.
I'm competitive. I like to play lots of sports but have never been great at any of them. Even after both kids I kept playing soccer...until I was taking my son to his own practices and I couldn't how to figure out how to juggle his games with mine.
I am a member of the best gym in town, but feel silly in those classes and I hate the treadmill.
I do however, love food.
I also have the cholesterol level of a 70 year overweight man who is on an all bacon diet.
And family history of diabetes and heart disease and am about 2 cheeseburgers away from shopping at Lane Bryant.
And the easiest solution to that is to lace up my sneaks, download some terrible music and take a few laps around the block.
And I'd come back home sweatier and with a clearer head.
At some point those few laps became a few miles and even occasionally a few hours.

Back in the fall a friend asked me to do a half marathon with her, to raise money for World Vision. For clean water for children in Africa. I'd only done a half marathon once before. Pre-kids and atleast 20 lbs ago. A few friends had tried to talk me into one a year or so back and I wasn't interested. Too far. Too expensive. Too much training.
But this time I said yes.

And I run for lots of reasons.
For the tshirts and race swag.
For the cupcakes I want to eat later.
For the good kind of sore the next day.
For my head to clear.
For atleast thirty minutes of quiet.
To help me get off the couch.
So my thighs don't rub together.
Because of how strong I feel after a really good run.
Because my pants fit better and I feel better when I do.
Because when else is it ok to put Beiber, Nikki Minaj , and the Zac Brown Band all on the same playlist.
Because I'll never be as fast as most people, but I know I can usually outlast them.
But this weekend I'll be running for all those selfish reasons....and one really more important one.


*nearly half of the world's population lives on less than 2$ a day (ouch. i spend more than that on coffee most days)
*Nearly every day 852 million people go hungry, over 300 million of those are children. (and not just hungry, like I feel most days after school because I eat lunch at 10:30...but real...hunger).
*One in every 5 children living in developing countries do not have access to clean drinking water (...I can just look around my living room and see almost that many half drank juice boxes or water bottles my kids left out)

and there are plenty more scary facts where that came from. (world vision stats on poverty) and I'm totally stealing this line from another one of their videos. "Some statistics you can't run from....but you can run for."
Want to help without getting blisters? Consider making a donation here: http://support.worldvision.org/site/TR?team_id=26640&fr_id=1471&pg=team
and thanks so much for the people who already have.

Comments

Good luck on your race!
I started running almost 3 years ago now. I love it. For all the same reasons as you listed. I love food, and the quiet, and pushing myself. I am nowhere near the fastest, or even the faster 50%, but I can go forever. And I enjoy running for a cause. It increases our world outlook beyond ourselves and our small families.
Alyssa said…
Good luck and can't wait to hear how it goes! Proud of you for running!

Popular posts from this blog

pace yourself

Tonight I went running with a friend ten years my junior. I asked her how far she was running and when she said only about 1.5 or 2 miles, I teased her that I could go at least twice that far. And to just let me know when she needed to stop. I have been running pretty regularly for the last few weeks. It isn’t long but keep increasing my time and distance. I’ve stopped getting blisters. I don’t suck wind after five minutes anymore and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Thinking I might even be able to out run this girl who was so much younger and obviously in more shape than me. As we started to jog I told her that I run pretty slow. Like my husband used to walk beside me while I ran, slow. And she slowed her gait a little bit for me but it was still faster than I usually go. I was a little embarrassed and was not going to ask her to slow down again. So I just ran at her pace. I stayed close. And was fading fast. A little over a mile in I was ready to quit. Again, pride, which isn...

pursue something else.

Americans like the idea of happy. of pursuing happiness. It is even one of our inalienable rights at least according to the Declaration of Independance. But I think maybe we should pursue something else. like love or joy or peace or contentment. and leave happy alone. Don't read me wrong. I am neither bitter nor cynical. Even my problems are good problems. I am positive. Half full. And most days I laugh a whole lot more than I cry. And simple things like a dance party in the living room, an hour alone in Barnes and Noble, the yellow pajama pants my son picked out for me for mother's day, potstickers, clean sheets, someone surprising me with coffee, jeans fresh from the dryer, a good song on the radio, or squeals of delight when I walk in the door all make my heart sing. They make me happy. For a minute. But when the squealing turns to screaming, my new pants are dirty, the sheets are in a jumble on the floor or the coffee runs out....where does that leave me? And happy isn'...

my first dance

My wedding day is a little bit of a blur. And it was a great day. But so many people and so much going on and so many moments that it is hard to remember them all clearly without the help of photographs. But I totally remember my first dance as a bride. And it wasn’t with my husband. Or even my father, or brother. I had quickly kicked off my heels and hid them underneath a table. Said my hellos and hugs and smiled until my face hurt. Someone ushered us through the buffet line and I piled my plate with hors d'oeuvres and headed to a table. But before I could pop a single shrimp in my mouth someone grabbed me firmly by the arm and pulled me onto the dance floor and into a jitterbug before I could protest. It was my husband’s granddaddy. A man I had only met about a few times and heard say about as many words. So I was a little surprised when he spun me around the dance floor. Eventually that night I danced with my husband. And my dad. And probably even my brother. But my fir...