Well, I officially completed a half marathon. As I have savored this accomplishment for most of today, I have come to realize that I have achieved something far greater than 13.1 miles. As many of you know, my desire and drive to run yesterday was inspired by my dad. He was the one person who believed I could do anything in the world . . . besides sing! When I had completely given up, it was his voice on the phone, in the back of my head, screaming up the stairs that told me that I could accomplish anything I set my mind on.
Achieving anything, large or small, made my dad so proud. Nothing made him happier than watching his three kids succeed. Whether it was getting a good grade on a test, becoming friends with a new kid in town, getting a job, going to college, holding the door for someone, my dad swelled with pride when he watched his kids do good things. Not only did he feel this way, he communicated these feelings each and every day. I heard how proud my dad was of my literally five times a day. Seems excessive, but it was always so genuine. I lived for those words . . . "Elise, I am proud to be your dad." Nothing made me happier and nothing made me push harder, faster, stronger.
Since my dad has died, pride is one feeling I had not yet felt. For example, when I finished grad school I didn't know how to be proud of what I accomplished. It just felt like finishing grad school was a reminder of who I didn't have in the audience, who would never read my thesis, who would be absent in family pictures. I was mad. There was a part of me that just didn't want to celebrate at all because ignoring it made it seem like I didn't have to face that my dad would not be present.
There have been little things along the way that I have struggled to feel proud of . . . moving across the country, starting a new job, taking risks on things that are important, standing up for what I believe in, asking for help when I need it. Part of me wants to feel proud, but to even try reminds me how big my dad shaped hole is. I am blessed to be surrounded by dozens of people who challenge, support, and love me. These very people tell me they are proud quite often, but it just doesn't settle the same way.
Things changed yesterday. As I ran along the streets of Providence, RI there was only one word to describe how I felt . . . proud. For awhile, I could not even name the feeling that enveloped me. At one point, I kept telling myself that it felt as though a beast was unleashed from within. I did not know what came over me. I just zoned out and ran. I weaved in and out of people, my mind was free and clear, I savored every rain drop that landed on me (and there were MANY!), I just let loose. I let go. I just lived. I savored. I enjoyed. I just was.
At one point (I can picture it exactly, but can't tell you where I was) it hit me. I was so proud. Upon this realization, I did not know what to do, so I just cried . . . some things will never change about me! I was proud of the 200+ miles I ran training. I was proud that I followed through on such a large commitment. I was proud that my body was able and ready to take on such a feat. I was proud that I didn't let the rain, the delayed start, the massive amounts of people, or any other obstacle stand in the way of what I set out to do.
As I concluded mile 11 and embarked on mile 12, I was overcome with emotion. I saw the mile marker and got incredibly emotional. It was then that I realized I was really going to finish the race. I was ten minutes away from being a "half marathoner". I was proud even though my dad's voice wasn't in my hear, his arms weren't hugging me, and his smile was not in a crowd of people reassuring me that I did well. I was proud because I knew I earned my own pride, and more importantly, his. I was proud because I decided to do something, I did it, and I did it well. I was proud because I was finally able to feel my dad's pride within. I was proud because he has been proud all along.
As I neared the finish, I was also proud because I am a runner. I truly am. Prior to yesterday's race, people often asked, "Oh, you're a runner?" My response was always, "No, I just run." I don't know why I could never fully embrace this identity. I know runners. They run rain or shine. They are outfitted with matching shorts and shirts. Their sneakers are always clean. They apparently crave a "runner's high". They get cranky when they can't "get a run in". Their calves nicely toned. Me . . . I just run.
Not anymore folks! I am a runner. And not because I have an extensive wardrobe of Reebok gear, run in the rain, or have new shoes. I am a runner BECAUSE I RUN. I am a runner because I enjoy the open road, the challenge of going faster, longer. I am a runner because I have proved myself wrong. Because I am a runner, I am proud. I am proud of my first half marathon. I am proud to be connected to and loved by so many amazing people. I am proud that the runner in me raised nearly $2500.00 for an organization I love and believe in. I am proud that each mile I ran was one step closer toward an end of cancer. I am proud that I chose to run and be empowered by a period of my life that is still hard, overwhelming, and quite honestly sucks. BECAUSE I RUN, I can transform tragedy to triumph. BECAUSE I RUN, I have ignited the spark I have missed most from my dad . . . pride. BECAUSE I RUN, I am one stinkin proud runner.
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