Finish Lines

In life, and especially in life as a stay-at-home mom, there aren't many finish lines.

You do the day to day stuff- laundry, cooking, drawing baths and changing diapers; and in most cases you do this and more for many years.

Yes, it is tiring, but it is also so rewarding.  It just isn't rewarding in the cross a finish line and get a medal placed around your neck, sort of way.

I don't work a job where a paycheck comes once a month to compensate me for my labor.

I am no longer in school pursuing a degree that will one day hang on my wall.

Instead I am giving my whole soul to the raising of these perfect little spirits and while I wouldn't change it for the world, sometimes a finish line- a moment of recognition- seems like an obvious (and needed) culmination to a long week.

Maybe that is what made me do it?

 Perhaps the need for a physical challenge, the desire to achieve a goal, and the ache to do something that I could call my own is what compelled me to wake up at 4:30 in the morning and submit my body to 13.1 miles of constant movement.

And the truth is that when I crossed that real, tangible finish line two hours and five minutes later, I felt so proud of myself for doing it.  I felt so grateful for a healthy body and able legs that propelled me forward every step of the way.  

And I felt motivated to do more of the things that scare me, because the possibility of looking them in the eye and conquering them is so great.

Eight years to the day of the race, I was moving into a college dorm room in Utah not knowing who would be sharing the bed next to me.

A few hours later I learned her name was Breanne, a few more hours later and I learned we had a freakishly large amount of things in common, and before I knew it I had a life-long best friend.

We have survived 8 crazy years full of school, job changes, marriages, joys and sorrows, children, and more.

And while we didn't realize the significance of the day until mile 12 on that Saturday morning, I can't think of a better person to motivate me on that race course or throughout my life.

I ran a lot of those 13 miles for others.

For my husband and his never ending support during a training schedule thrown into an already crazy summer.  For his insistence (and persistence) that I buy new running shoes for my race.  And because of the phone calls full of pep talks and praise since he couldn't be there to greet me at the finish line.

I ran for my little girls so that they can know that a fit, healthy body is important, and that they have the power to achieve any goal if they work hard and dream big.

I let my mind turn to some of the people who inspire me daily- Stephanie Nielson and Timmie Bowie- two women who know what a blessing a healthy, able body can be; and who motivate me to do more with this life I have been given.

I ran for my dad and for the hard battle he fought for so long.  He never gave up, so neither could I.

But that last mile, those last steps that were some of the most difficult, most glorifying steps of my life; those were mine.  I accomplished something I never thought I would, and really, never thought I could.

So in the end, that finish line was my own.  I crossed it for myself and for the miles I had run to get there, for the sweat and aches and pains that accompanied the journey.

I did it for me.