Aileen Taylor

Three and a half months had gone by. To be quite honest, I'd been training my whole life. So despite my regimented three and a half month schedule, I realistically had been mentally preparing my whole life to run. Running is something I'm not naturally good at. I have to work very hard at it and it has never become easy, despite what everyone said. Each day that I would put my running shoes on, I'd mentally struggle: to work out vs. not to work out - for more than an hour! I'd eventually coax myself into it. After breathing in the fresh air I would think to myself. "Why didn't I do this an hour ago?"
So here I was again, staring at my shoes. I'd eaten breakfast. Check. I'd gotten dressed. Check. I'd weighed myself. (A gentle reminder to exercise.) Check. My mp3 player was ready. Check. Now the hard part - actually exercising. But alas, I'd found a secret weapon! Want to know what it is? I'll tell you. ...In a minute.
The half marathon was in 7 weeks. It was my first. I'd run far distances before, but never competitively. And since I'm being honest today, I never measured distances "exactly". So I'd bluff a little on my distance every now and then... big deal. Not this time.
I knew training would be hard. I'm not a morning person. I knew I needed help. I turned to my secret weapon - drum roll please.... TA DA! - my husband! I imagine you were hoping for a better secret than that. But just hear me out. It is obvious, I'm no ray of sunshine in the morning. There was only one person in the world that could handle my "chipperness" - or lack thereof, especially when I needed his help the most. I knew he wanted me to run this race as much as I wanted to run the race. Want to know how he did it? Competition. WHAT? Was he just threatening to run this race faster than me? Not only did he want to run the half marathon with me, he wanted to run it faster.
Week one. I chuckled. I knew my husband couldn't run this race. Well, he could run it, but I knew he wouldn't finish it. At least I had a running buddy.
Week two. My husband was a sprinter. He'd (being the happy, morning person that he is) try to pep talk me into running faster. He'd hype up each run. Each mile marker, I'd hear a grunting (supposed to be motivational) power cheer. "Slow and steady wins the race," I'd think to myself - mostly so that I didn't just punch him in the face. I hoped he'd exhaust all his energy early on.
Week three. My husband was keeping pace with me. And he was keeping distance. At least I wasn't lonely on my trail run, but now I felt like I had a happy dog on my heels.
Week four. It was midsummer. We found ourselves having to wake up earlier each Saturday to get our distance run in before the sun would heat up. At least I had my husband to carry my water, that will help bog him down.
Week five. I'm starting to realize that my husband who never ran further than 3.5 miles in his life was a better runner than me. I thought running was my sport?
Week six. I need a strategy.
Week 7 - gunfire. The race was on.
We woke at 3am to drive to the race. We boarded the buses at 6am. We started the race at 7:30. Now that it was actually the race, I could feel my adrenaline pumping. I wondered where all these other people came from - I'd never seen nearly as many people training on the trails. My husband was excited. Chipper. We let the fastest runners pass us and decided to keep our training pace. It was too slow for my husband. Suddenly, my mental focus had been distracted as he consistently reminded me that we were going too slow. "You're kidding me! ...You are NOT going to allow that girl to pass you. ... An 80-year old. You're going to let an old man pass you too??" He'd beg me to run faster. I knew he could run faster. But I knew he believed in me and wanted to be there to help me cross the finish line. We continued to keep pace and ... run slow.
We were a quarter mile from the finish line. My husband was my running companion. But I'm competitive.
I instantly decided that I needed to sprint. I booked it. I had all this reserved energy left in me and I put my dial on turbo. I bolted so fast and ran across the finish line. I ran across the finish line, before my husband did. I will forever have a faster finish time than him on our very first distance race. I know, I'm a jerk. But that's besides the point. I just finished the half marathon! I actually did it. But I didn't do it alone.
It worked. My secret weapon - my loving husband - would wake up each morning and make me a smoothie so I would have energy for my runs. My husband believed in me. He wanted me to succeed. He wanted me to be healthy. He encouraged me to run (he could have easily begged me to finish something around the house that needed more attention). More than anything, he was at the finish line, with the proudest face and biggest smile. Not because he finished, but because I did. He knew that his secret weapon, competition, would motivate me enough to run that race - even if it was "faster" than him. He learned to enjoy something that never interested him, running. He'd inspired me to be a better runner.
In life, we are always confronted with hard things. Sometimes we're naturally good at it. Sometimes, as was my case, it was something I tried to "force" myself to enjoy and it was something I never really was good at. But over time, my inadequacies allowed me to finish a half marathon. Something many people never accomplish in their lifetimes. It's about perspective. If we believe we can do something, if we believe we are capable and if we have the discipline to do it - we can! Even if not immediately. Don't be afraid to ask for help. I quickly realized that although "I" wanted to have the faster finish time, although "I" wanted to run the race, although "I" wanted him to maintain my pace - at the end of the day, I didn't run that race alone. I was surrounded by winners. I had one right by my side the entire time.
Now, put your shoes on...