July 28, 2011
I pinned my bib number to my shirt, I stretched my calf muscles, made sure I had enough water in the bottles on my belt and lined up with the others at the starting line. This is it, I thought to myself, this is what it feels like to be a real runner. With the blast of the starter pistol the mass around me started moving, and I along with it, but within a few short minutes it became very clear…looking like a runner, acting like a runner…doesn’t make you a runner.
Out of 78 participants, yup, you guessed it, I came in 78th. With a time of 42 minutes, 19 seconds. The mass of runners was out of my sight so quickly, if I hadn’t been wearing a number on my shirt, bystanders would not have known I was a part of the race. Although, later on when the Essex Junction Fire Department rig was following me to the finish line, this same number let people know I was just the last runner, and not an escapee from the Chittenden County Correctional Center.
Yes I was last, but I finished. A few adolescents, Dads with baby joggers and two Grandmothers had pace times a full five minutes less than mine. But they aren’t me. As far as I know none of them have battled back from almost life threatening obesity, and don’t have the same determination and goals I do. I have done my first 5k and for my next one I will be better, stronger and faster! And Grandma will be behind me
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