Running in the dark

Sunday, August 31st 2008. Five o'clock: Before the sun was even awake yet, Sean and I were preparing for my first group run at Lake Hefner. My foot already hurt from my very first war wound, a blister on my poor little pinkie toe (the first of many to come I am told). I laced up my tennis shoes and got ready to go. When we arrived, we were greeted by a few faces just as tired-looking as ours. Ruth, one of the honored heroes (that's what TNT calls cancer survivors), who is training for her 5th and 6th marathon, was there ready to go. A quick note to self: do not complain about how hard this 3 mile run will be at 6 in the morning when the person next to you has 11 miles farther then you to go AND this person is a cancer survivor! That puts everything in perspective.
The coach was pointing out the mile markers for me and told me to keep an eye out for the water stops as we got started. She said she would try to keep up with Sean and I, but she was pacing herself because she and Ruth were taking a long walk/run today. I told her not to worry, as I am very slow! All this booty slows me down :) First half mile, feeling good. Except for the fact that I can't see in front of me (and we all know that I have to look at my feet to walk!) because it is so dark out. It is surprisingly relaxing to hear the rhythm of my breathing, the pounding of my feet on the pavement and the wind coming off of the lake. First mile: a mile already!? Wow, that went by fast! Although my lips are dry and I could really use a drink of water. Where is that water stop anyways? Mile and a half: Half way there! I am starting to slow down now-I sure hope I can keep the pace long enough to finish. Two miles: My goodness, when will this be over!? And where is the damn water stop!? We pass the coach and Ruth on the last mile. They give us a little cheer and said, "And you said you were slow! Look at you go!". All the while I am thinking, can I stop now, did I go far enough to say, "At least I tried". Must keep going. Sean is at least a half a mile ahead of me now. The sun is starting to peek out of the sky now. Last half mile: The tiniest little incline feels like Mount Everest. My legs are like jell-o and my toe...my poor little pinkie toe. I can see the parking lot we started at, coming closer and closer. Can I stop now because it is within eyesight? Does that count? Okay, I guess I can make it that last 0.2 of a mile. Except here comes another Mount Everest! I push through the lack of oxygen to my brain and blood flow to my legs and I am finally done! I clap for myself, saying out loud, "I did it, without stopping". Then I realize how funny that must look that I am clapping and talking to myself. What a small victory. 3 miles, only 23.2 to go :)