On March 23, 2013, I ran my first 5k. I decided early this year to follow the same training plan I had 10 years ago to see if I could achieve a similar result.
I. Training
Over the past few years, I have tried several times to complete Couch to 5k again. I kept falling off of the wagon because of injury, family deaths, fatigue from adjusting to the new normal that is life in the pandemic era. I was scared to reach week 6 this go-round because that has been where it goes wrong. The only thing that went “wrong” in my training this time was that I accidentally started a week earlier than I needed to, but that mistake allowed me the flexibility to deal with life as it happened. I was able to get all the days in, often feeling strong. I have learned – or been reminded – that training is best when I am well-rested, hydrated, and stretched. Shocking, I know. In the before times, I was happy both training before and after work. These days, I have a strong preference for running on days off, so I don’t feel rushed to stretch.
II. Race Day
I was single and living with my parents 10 years ago, but I still wanted them to come cheer me on today! Apparently, living with my husband doesn’t absolve me of my driving duty, so I dutifully went to pick Mom up. Daddy’s mobility doesn’t look the same as it did 10 years ago, and I happily accepted his well wishes before we left.
We parked and crossed the street to the elementary school where the race was staged. I had emailed the race organizer to see if there was a chance that I could have the same bib number as I did 10 years ago, but he politely replied that it was likely not possible due to the 5k numbers not going as high as I would require. Sure enough, I received a 3 digit bib number instead of a 4 digit one. I noticed that this year, the start and finish line were exactly the same, as opposed to being about 50 yards apart as they had been in the past. Mom made fun of me for this selfie:
In my training, my left knee had good days and bad days, but by the time the cycle had wrapped up, I was able to run without pain and thus without my brace. As I was warming up, I started to wonder if I should have been wearing it. I dismissed it as pre-race jitters. There was an announcement for 5k runners to begin lining up. I hugged my Mom, she wished me luck, I said a prayer, thanking God for the day and asking for the strength to run the whole way through. I haven’t run a race in its entirety since February 2020!
The horn sounded. We were off!
Immediately, I noted that my left leg was unhappy to be there. I grimaced, hoping that it would subside, and thankfully, before the first mile was done, it did. I was lightly jogging, enjoying the curated playlist I had decided to put in a race day order minutes earlier. I think I try to intentionally forget that this race is what I call “Florida hilly” – lots of little ups and downs, as it is adjacent to a golf course. I saw the first incline and sighed but was determined to push through. About a half mile in, I recognized that there were people I would likely be running with the whole time based on our pace. There was an older black woman with beautiful gray natural hair who was slightly ahead of me most of the time. I decided I wanted her to beat me because it is a sign that I can keep getting better. I was running without a watch this time – even 10 years ago I had a basic polar heart rate watch. I just wanted to move without watching any metrics. When I reached the mile 1 sign, I smiled, crossed myself and thanked God. My music was telling me I was going the pace I wanted. Mile 2 was similar – I could keep this up, I thought.
Mile 3 was absolutely brutal.
There were so many bloody turns. My mouthing the words to my playlist had become cursing. I know I have written previously about turns making me feel like I am progressing, but these turns were just too many. Another one – then another one – I felt like I would never see the finish line. I really wanted to walk, but I knew I would be mad at myself later, and I knew my body still was able to have both feet off of the ground at the same time. I had been looking forward to the triumph of seeing the finish line like I had at age 27, but at age 37, I was feeling relief. Seeing my Mom waving me in did change my cursing into smiling though, and I still had a little more in my legs to pick up the pace toward the finish.
I did it.
III. What’s Next?
As much as I was cursing the course yesterday, I hope I can return at 47. I need 10 years to mentally prepare for the turning, I think. 🙂 So much has changed in the last ten years. Yes, I am heavier, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be stronger. I think the greater challenge is the mental weight of life that has come with the passing of time. I hope my Dad is still around to give me a hug when I get back from dropping off Mom. I hope my Mom can make me another “Go Jo” sign and be there to wave for me as a I finish. I’m not sure who is reading this anymore, but if you are, I am rooting for you to be your strongest, too! ❤
ladyjdoesit 
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