March 2009-Finding Redemption

I recently Googled myself and there it was, staring me in the face—my time from last year’s Freezefest 5K. Sometimes a bad race sticks with you. I remember sitting in the back of the room after the race, feeling dejected, not wanting to see or talk to anyone.

Greg Bodeker had told me that every time I had trouble getting up early in the morning to go run, I should remember how I felt on that day and use it to motivate me. I never forgot that. Thanks, Greg.

The morning of this year’s Freezefest I scribbled the word “redemption” on the palm of my hand. I often write a word or phrase on my body before a race to motivate me. I knew I shouldn’t put such emphasis on a 5K race—a fun run for most people—but this race had become significant to me. It really was about redemption, redeeming myself, proving that what I did last year wasn’t me. I could be stronger, faster, better.

Earlier that week I had gone on a run before work. I had a 4-mile route mapped out. Somehow I headed down the wrong street and got turned around in the dark. Okay, I was lost. I eventually found Oakland Road and my way back home, but my 4-mile run turned into 5.43 miles. Was this a sign of things to come?

Freezefest morning had finally arrived. I put on my lucky SpongeBob boxer shorts. As the race drew closer, I began to pace like a caged animal. I couldn’t wait to get out there. Soon I was standing among a group of people and we were off!

My legs felt tight and I couldn’t get in a rhythm. “Just keep Rosie in your sights,” I told myself, ignoring the fact that our club prez has a pace two minutes faster than mine. Soon she was a spec in the distance. Okay, how about that speed walker or that old guy? There had to be someone out here I could beat.

“Just concentrate on yourself,” I told myself. “Go faster.” My legs weren’t listening. As my fellow club members ran by, they yelled out words of encouragement to me. It meant so much that they supported me. I wasn’t out here alone.

As I began the last mile, I pulled off my glove and looked at the “redemption” written on my hand. “If you want to redeem yourself, then you finish strong,” I ordered myself. There was a guy running six feet behind me and I decided he would be the one I would beat, no matter what. In my head I imagined that he was just waiting to make his move and try to take me, like we were racing on the beach in “Chariots of Fire.” As I headed into the parking lot, I made one last glance behind me. Victory was mine.

I bettered last year’s time by three minutes. I had hoped for six, but maybe that was overly ambitious. Baby steps, Lori, baby steps. There would be no moping this year. I knew my time wouldn’t impress anyone, but I had improved and that meant something to me. I had not given up or let setbacks prevent me from trying to be better. This was my first event of the season and I had a whole summer to prove I belonged here. I found my redemption.