The Race I Ran Alone

Running. The longest standing love-hate relationship of my life.

Back in high school, I traded my softball cleats and volleyball knee pads for ballet shoes and a pair of shimmery pom poms. These sports, yes sports, required a world of stamina but running was never at the forefront of my mind. In fact, after years of landing on my knees practicing back-handsprings and tucks, and my signature lyrical move of dropping to the ground after a graceful grand jete, I predicted that I would need a knee-replacement surgery before I turned 25. So running and I were never a thing.

In the summer of 2017, I felt daring, so I did what any rationale person would do and signed myself up to run a half marathon. What started as a test of will turned into the coping mechanism of dealing with my sister's declining mental health. It gave me a few hours a week to turn off the worry in my brain and do something purely to benefit myself. Lauren expressed interest in training with me leading up to the race, and even agreed to run the half with me the following year. I was ecstatic.

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Let me pause here for a minute to talk about grief and mourning. Many people who have never suffered a loss only view "the person" as the loss itself. While I miss my sister every hour of every day, what hits me the hardest is loss of what could have been: The half marathon that we will never run together, the nieces and nephews I'll never get to spoil, the picture of her zipping up my wedding dress that I'll never get to hang on my wall, the sight of her accepting her doctorate degree, and so on. These day-dream moments are the source of the most crippling pain.

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Through the LOSS program, I was told that the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention sponsored charity entrees to the Chicago Marathon. I was given the information and let the idea simmer for about a month before building the courage to reach out. The team captain had explained that the few remaining few spots were on hold until after the Holidays, and to check in later. I decided that I would let fate make the decision for me - if given a spot I would register, but if not, I was off the hook.

December 29th would have been Lauren's 25th birthday. After the party we threw in her honor had died down and I turned on my laptop, at the top of my inbox was an email from the team captain stating that one spot remained on the team and was given instructions to register.

Fate has a name and her name is Lauren.

Have you ever woken up after a night of heavy drinking in total bliss until all of the memories of the night before suddenly hit you like a train? That's exactly how I felt the morning after registering to run a freaking marathon. My head was a very scary place to be in that day, but I told myself that whatever happens, happens, but I would try my best.

As the months went on, I heard more gruesome training stories than I could count. Losing toenails, falling unconscious and having gear stolen, breaking an ankle a week before the race, to name some of the less graphic ones. Somehow I managed to skate by injury-free, the weather worked in my favor 99% of the time, and running at my moderate pace felt easy. While training, I would listen to my music on shuffle. I could go from Post Malone to Lauren's funeral procession song in an instant but somehow the song that played was exactly what I needed in the moment. There were many times I'd get out of my head long enough to witness that my brain was no longer telling my legs to run, yet they were still moving. It's common in distance runners, but I was new to the game, so I believed with my whole heart that it was Lauren taking over to let me rest when I needed it.

They say that butterflies are a sign from heaven, like anyone else that experienced loss, I cling to those signs like my life depended on it. One particularly hot Sunday, I was half-way through a 14 mile run and felt like throwing in the towel. I slowed down to find a spot to call an uber when a monarch flew right past my face. I took it as my cue to start running, and to keep running after realizing that the butterfly was flying with me. The day I almost quit ended up being one of my best runs.

There were other divine moments throughout training: The sun rising at the perfect time, sayings on shirts that lifted my spirits, a field of yellow butterflies rising as I ended a run - all of which fed into my belief that this race was exactly what I needed to do.

10 months flew by and before I knew it, it was the week before the big day. I was checking the extended forecast like a mad person but as each day went on it the weather was looking worse and worse.

...angel sister in heaven WYA??

If she was the reason for doing this she would do everything in her power to make the day perfect..right? She communicated to me so many times throughout training that she was there, there must have been a plan.

When I accepted the fact that rain was sure to happen along with soggy shoes, a chafed body, and blistered feet, I thought surely there would be a silver lining. Maybe the rain would hold off to the very last mile and as I crossed the finish line it would stop to reveal a beautiful rainbow over the lake. Or maybe it would pour for the first two corrals and the sun would shine bright over me in the slow lane. I imagined a butterfly would start following me, or I'd run past a fan dressed as one (there were many, many costumes.) But as the miles came and went so did my hope for the divine. I was tired, wet, and defeated. For the first time in my 18 weeks of training, running was a challenge, my feet were heavy, and my angel was no where to be found.

After seeing black spots in my vision on the brink of fainting at mile 19, something profound happened. I stopped looking for my sister and started to channel my own inner strength. I realized that while Lauren may have carried me to the start of the race, it was entirely up to me to finish it. It's not that she wasn't there, but rather she was showing me that I was capable of doing this on my own - but I wasn't entirely alone. From start to finish, family, friends, co-workers, and people I haven't seen in years in support of other runners were stationed throughout the race at almost every mile. I realized that her signs were the not the butterflies, rainbows, and sunshine I became accustomed to. It was the little voice in my head telling me to look left and right at just the right moment to catch the eyes of someone I knew. The smile, hugs, and support from my people.

A lesson was learned that day: Stop looking for the divine and let it be revealed to you.

I finished the race in 5 hours, 14 minutes and I wouldn't have changed a damn thing. The minutes I could have shaved off my time by simply waving at my family and friends paled in comparison to the overwhelming feeling of love within each embrace. And as for the atrocious weather, it served no other purpose than to prove that not only can I run a freaking marathon, I can run a freaking marathon in the rain.