365 Days Of Love. Day 20

Normally, on Sundays, I look forward to a 7:17am alarm, reminding me my long run will commence in a short 43 minutes. This Sunday, it was a 5 am alarm that sprung me out of bed with the promise of a new course for a new long run.

The Mardi Gras marathon in New Orleans was my second marathon, but one of many road races I’ve run since I religiously started pounding the pavement when I was 17. Tagging my shoes with a time recorder and filling my pockets with quick energy gels reminded me of past dates with the pavement all that those wonderful runs have entailed.

My first half marathon was in Watertown, SD. My friend Jamie and I had been training all summer and we excitedly piled into her mom’s van the day before the race for our first 13-mile run together. As we trekked around the lake, chasing the feet of those in front of us, her mom followed us, sweetly shouting words of encouragement out of her van window. My 17 year old self felt like 13 miles was an insane amount and Kim’s encouragement served as the fuel my mind needed to make my way around the seemingly vast body of water. Beyond that, Jamie’s sister and dad surprised us as we kicked it at the finish line. Jamie's family has since been my second running family. Every holiday, Jamie and I tie our laces to go for a run. Her mom offers us water before we go and provides more water when we return. So many runs have been fueled by Jamie's family.

My first marathon was in the Twin Cities. As a first time runner, I had no idea what miles I'd want cheering or ibuprofen or quick snacks. I did know, though, that I could easily run 13 miles so I asked my mini cheering section to go to mile 14 or 15 first. As I rounded the twin lakes in South Minneapolis, barely knocking off miles 1-10, I desperately wished my parents were there to cheer for me. I watched as people held up, "I love you" or "You're so hardcore" signs and yelled out the names of those around me, but my lack of individualized cheering started to take a toll on my mind.

And then

At mile 11, my cousin's boyfriend, Matt started yelling my name. "Nat, Nat, let's go Nat! Do you need anything? Are you okay?" He followed me throughout the race, camera in tow, sharing the same positive encouragement. My parents, sister, brother in law, grandparents, aunt, uncle, cousins, and co workers filled in the empty miles, making it impossible to quit, even though the thought crossed my mind multiple times. At mile 23, my aunt ran a quick few steps with me, stamping a smile on my face as I trotted the final 3 miles.

At mile 22 yesterday, three of my friends held a sign made in my honor. One of them chased me down the street, challenging the crowd to cheer for me. These friends drove 14 hours through the night to watch us run 26.2 miles, a 4 hour race on a Sunday morning. When I got done running, I had text messages from my mom and sister. My parents in South Dakota and my sister in Minnesota were tracking my race in New Orleans. Such a small running world, such a world of encouragement.

I love running. Secretly, I love muscle soreness and the cycle of pain my body inevitably endures at finale of every long(er) run. I'm humbled that, although they may not be dancing with cement for 4 hours one morning, my friends and family are right. there. with. me.