So I run

A little over two years ago, my husband and I were at a place where we were ready to grow our family.  We had prayed and waited and talked about it, and now it seemed everything was finally going according to plan.  The only thing that wasn't in our plan was the fact that, unlike my previous pregnancies, I felt like CRAP!  Physically and mentally this time around was not being kind to me.  And I realized that I was going to have to do something.  I knew I needed to find a way of taking care of myself in a new way - primarily by giving myself some feeling of control and "normalcy" in my body and thoughts - if I was going to be strong enough to make it through the next nine months.  

And so I ran.  

One evening I pulled myself off the couch, went down to the basement, dusted off the treadmill we had bought months ago and had yet to use, put on the tennis shoes I had purchased on sale while I was pregnant with Adrian and had yet to wear, and for the first time since I left Granite Falls in 2005, I tried "running" (or at least that's what I called it).   I began with the easiest preset 30 minute routine, which had me huffing and puffing by half-way into it.  But I did it!  And after a few weeks of this, I was up to 45 minutes, and was quite proud.   And so it began.  Layla was barely the size of a seed inside of me, but she (in an unsettling sort of way) was a huge motivation.  And as she grew, so did my enjoyment of running again. 

Two months later, with the encouragement of my extended family, the baby (who still remained a secret to everyone but her dad and I and our clinic) and I ran our first ever 5K.  I set a goal finishing time for myself (I won't say what, but it was not in the low two-figures I can tell you that, as "running" was still a very loose term for what I did), and to my huge surprise I made it with almost 7 minutes to spare.  I was ecstatic!  (Not too bad for a 14 week pregnant woman who hadn't run in nine years and was passed by women pushing strollers on the route!)  

And so I kept running.  

A year later, Layla now a part of my cheering crew, I ran the same race again, beating my previous year's time (along with the new goal I had set for myself for this year) by another big margin. I was once again overjoyed!  (Not bad for a woman who could barely hobble for the first six months after her last race, and almost literally hadn't slept for the six months just before this one!)  

And so I ran harder.  

Tonight, after a few years of running on and off the treadmill and two pairs of worn-out tennis shoes later, I once again ran that race.  And once again, I beat my time and goal. Happy?, you wonder.  Proud?, you ask.  Heck yea!!  But not necessarily for the reason you would imagine.  Sure I'm proud of my finishing and my time and my improvement - all reasons to consider it a success.  But mostly, my feeling proud and successful is because of my motivation. 

The motivation which, however unpleasant (and trust me, it was unpleasant!) it may have been at the time, got me moving a few years ago is the same motivation that had me running my heart out tonight too - my kids!

I started running because I wanted to be strong enough to carry that little baby within me as best I could.  I continue running because I want my kids to have that same strong mother.  

Not a bulked-up, gym rat, super strength or speed kind of mother.  Not even a can-open-a-jar-of-pickles-and-swing-a-sledgehammer-without-blinking-an-eye kind of mother (though that may not be all bad), but strong nonetheless.  Strong enough.  Strong enough to run a 5K, and then some.  Strong enough to make it up steep hills.  To fight against the wind that tries to push me back.  To outrun the neighborhood dogs that nip at my heels.  Strong enough to try something new sometimes, taking on new paths and greater distances.  To out-do my own best.  

But not just physically strong.  I want my kids to have a mother who is mentally strong as well.  Strong enough to push myself up and over challenging spots in life's journey.  Strong enough to keep going when it gets tough and life's storms try to push me to turn around or give up.  Strong enough to get past those others who would as soon hurt me as help me.  Strong enough to try new adventures, taking on risks and challenges that could lead to great things.  To out-do my own best.  

I also want to be strong in confidence.  Strong enough to know that not only am I doing alright, but if I put my mind to it, I can climb mountains.  Strong enough to feel good and proud of myself, no matter what is coming at me.  To recognize and trust in my own strength, regardless of the perceived strength of those around me.  Strong enough to try to find new, deeper levels of love and pride in myself, taking on the me that GOD created me to be.  To believe that I am capable of out-doing my own best.  

And so I run.  

I run because I want my kids to have a strong mother.  I want my kids to have a strong mother, because I want my kids to be strong.

I hope that my children too will be strong people, in all ways.  That they will have the strength to be healthy and happy.  The inner strength to set their minds to great things and meet their lives' goals.  To believe in themselves and rejoice in all they are.  I dream that my children will set ambitious goals, work hard for them, and exceed even their own expectations.  I pray each and every day that they will be far stronger than I will ever be.  

And so I run. 

That motivation which made me take control of bettering my situation a few years ago has led to a new normal for me.  The tiny push to plug in the treadmill that February evening now has me continually moving in new, better, directions.  That little seed started just over two years ago has made me stronger, and continues to do so.  Layla was tough on me, and it has made me tougher.  She was, and continues to be, my motivation, along with her siblings. I want my kids to have a strong witness, because I want them to be strong. 

The hope that my example of striving to grow in strength - physically, mentally and in confidence - will inspire the same, and greater, strength from my children is why I run.  They are there on the sidelines (be it next to the treadmill, waiting on the driveway for me to return or at the finish line of my annual race), cheering me on.  My running is just one of the ways I can strive to be their cheering team as well - letting them know they can climb mountains, laugh in the face of the wind, and outrun any adversity nipping at their heels; my choosing to run is how I can clap wildly for their future selves, trusting that they will out-do their own best over and over again in their lives. 

I love them, and the strength I can already see in each of them.  

And so, I run.