A couple weeks ago I ran a 5k race in my hometown. While I have a goal of running a 5k in under 26 minutes the point of this race was to celebrate ten years of marriage. My husband and I planned to run the first mile together. Going into the race I knew I probably wouldn’t reach my goal. Being sick with a cold/fever all week I hadn’t ran at the higher altitude enough to adapt to it. Finally, I knew my first mile would be slower then my normal pace.
As I came around for the last 400 meters of the race the local ski mountain came into view. It dawned on me this was the first time in over 15 years I’d run a race in my home town. The truth of the statement caused tears to well up in my eyes. I felt a sob build in my chest. Quickly, I took a deep breath and the tears disappeared. I could run or I could cry. I couldn’t do both at the same time.
After I finished few tears trickled down my face. I wished I could transport myself back 15 years and chat with who I was back then. I’d tell me about how I would fall in love with running again. She’d be shocked to find out I fell in love with not just running, but swim/bike/run. I’d tell her so many adventures full of fun, heartache, and joy were in store. Most importantly, I’d tell her she’s okay then and she’ll be okay in the future.
Obviously, I can’t go back in time. Well if the Doctor shows up in the Tardis or I find a time-turner then I could… However, a part of me felt healed when I realized I raced again in my home town. A part of me I didn’t realize had broken.