A little day-jah-vooooooo

I step onto the school bus and Coach Spain greets me with his usual chipper "Good morning, Freshman!" and smiles at me, despite my tired face. I attempt a grin and courtesy chuckle at his little jab. Freshman year was done and over with, but Coach Spain would never refer to me otherwise.

I find a seat close to the front and slide in. I fish my Walkman out of my track bag and grab a mix tape I made just for this occasion: a very long bus ride. I pop it in, hoping the tunes will squelch my nerves. I glance down at my Adidas running shoes and smile. Thanks, Mom. They not only look pretty, but feel suuuper comfortable. My teammates are chattering happily around me. I begin to unzip my back pack and think, nah, I'll get to my homework later. I glance at my stopwatch: 6:07am. This is way too early. Especially for a Saturday morning. I closed my eyes and snuggled up to the blanket "quillow" my grandma made for me. Billy Ray Cyrus began belting through my headphones my secret 5th grade favorite song, "Achy Breaky Heart." Sleep didn't come, and I could taste anxiety in my mouth and feel it in my stomach. Desperate for a reprieve from my pre-race jitters, I began to think about Tuesday's chemistry test, my upcoming English research paper, and the stake dance later that night. I smiled at the thought of boogying with my girlfriends and pressed my thumb and forefinger to my ears to make sure my good luck earrings, red and blue turqoise butterfly studs, were still in tact. Yep, still there.

I pull out my Gatorade and notice a sticker my mom slapped on it. "2:20 and 5:30!!!" she had written. Those were my goal times. I had recently taken to the 800 meter and 1600 meter runs and was loving it. Winning both races at the track meet the previous Wednesday certainly boosted my confidence, but also raised my expectations. Though Coach Joe was convinced I was a two-miler, I was thrilled Coach Spain let me have my way and run in my two favorite events. Perhaps I could be a two-miler. But I didn't want to be. Eight laps around the track required way too much concentration for the likes of me. If I couldn't handle that race mentally, I certainly wouldn't be able to handle it physically. I take a gulp of my Gatorade and close my eyes again......

Unaware of how much time had gone by, I awaken to the bus lurching to a halt. We had arrived. Coach Spain stood up and lead us in the Lord's Prayer. I smile, admiring his conviction. Teachers weren't allowed to lead students in prayer, but Spain didn't care about that. He cared about us running well, and knew bringing God into the equation certainly wouldn't hurt.

I stepped off the bus and begin scouting out a good spot the distance girls could lay claim on. Though it was only 9am, the sun is blazing hot, so we take refuge under the stadium facing south. I still feel queasy. Why am I doing this? I ask myself. What part of this is fun? What part of failing myself is great? I wasn't big into placing, but I was big into my personal times, hoping to qualify for regionals. If I wasn't running, I'd still be in bed right now..... instead I am focusing on:
a. breaking 5:30 in the 1600 b. breaking 2:20 in the 800 c.run so hard I wanted to die at the finish line. (c. was a good compromise. even if I didn't run well, I would know I did my best by how awful I felt afterwards)

---- 10 years later ----

I hug my sister and wish her luck. I watch as she crosses the street heading towards the line of buses facing the road to Eden. I waved and turned down the street, meeting my line of buses which were headed 13.1 miles past Eden; the starting line for the half marathon.

I step on to the bus and this time it is I who greets the bus driver with a smile. She nods while blowing into her cupped hands. It was cold. Very cold. I found a seat and slid in. I pulled out my cell phone and glanced at the time 5:17. Ugh. It's a crime to be up this early, I complain to myself. I listen to the caucophony of voices around me and smile to myself at the high intensity conversations. People are anxious about the race. I am calm. I settle in my seat further to get comfortable and put my headphones on. I switch my i-Pod shuffle to random and begin enjoying the tunes. Thanks to my dad, not only did I have a much smaller and more comfortable method of listening to music during a run, (the shuffle was an early birthday present purchased the day before) he also downloaded some great music, including none other than Miley Cyrus.

I check my ears for my special penguin earrings. I had purchased them the night before at the hotel front desk while checking in. My son Cade has developed a minor obsession with all things arctic, especially penguins. He had left a message on my voicemail the night before in tears telling me how much he missed me. So I bought the penguins to feel like my little Cade was with me. My eyes stung with fresh tears and I wipe my eyes. Sure miss my darlings, I thought.

I take a swig of my orange Gatorade, appropriately provided by my mother dearest. I smiled, thinking of the spaghetti dinner she prepared for my sisters and I the night before. Just like old times.

The bus starts and I look out the window watching the scenery change before my eyes. Old homes close together faded into a windy road of cabin-like homes which then faded into no homes and just a road overlooking a lake. It was beautiful. Peaceful.

I think about my children, what they might be doing at that moment and smile. Recollecting previous bus trips to races, this one is far more enjoyable. It feels so good to not have any worries. I enjoy the ride and laugh about how some things never change:

I was still running, and still admitted that I didn't have the mental capacity for the long races. The full marathon for instance. 13 miles seemed so much easier on the mind. I still wore good luck stud earrings and I was listening to a device that was given to me for my birthday, just like my cherished yellow walkman. I wasn't listening to Billy Ray, but his daughter this time around. My mom still took her role seriously as the mother of her running daughters and all my carb loading and hydration can be attributed to her. Yep, some things never change.

Yes, lots hadn't changed, but a lot of things had: I wasn't nervous. I was content with my goals:
a. not get passed by any marathoners (after all, they were starting 13.1 miles behind me) b.run the entire race without walking or water c, the most important: feel great the entire race.

Lost in that thought, I look down at my wrist and laugh. I forgot my stopwatch at the hotel. Just as well, I tell myself. Now I'll really have a chance to just run and not think about my pace.

to be continued....