Divine intervention

Half the battle with any goal is just showing up. Sounds simple, doesn’t it?

It’s not. Just look at New Year’s resolutions. It’s easy to fail at them without something to make you accountable. 

That’s why I like having running partners. It keeps me honest when I’d rather drown my sorrows in Reese’s peanut butter cups –one of my favorite methods of self-sabotage.

Running with others also saves me from too much time with “me, myself and I.”  On good days they are supportive and push me farther than I thought possible.

On bad days they throw me monster rages, a “self-pity palooza” fueled by criticism, negativity and self-defeat.  I pray a lot when I feel this low. On occasion my prayers are answered with divine intervention, like when I met the “Quick Chicks.”

I had been living in Colorado for a few years, but I still didn’t know any other runners.  I searched for groups to run with in my town but had no luck.  I also attended a few Columbine events (the all women’s running club in Denver), but that didn’t work either. Like Gilligan’s Island — a three-hour tour turned years of episodes later — their events stretched too long for me. A group run took the better part of a day, which didn’t sit well with my husband and children.

I resigned myself to running alone and too many Reese’s cups.

One spring morning a few years ago I went to the high-school track nearest my house alone for speedwork. I dreaded it but went anyway. I wanted to try it on principle, even if it didn’t help, sort of like flossing one’s teeth.

The “Quick Chicks” were there, but l kept to myself.  I’ve always been shy around new people.

They were a sea of mostly blondes and seemed friendly. They looked uber-fit. 

I ran alone, self-conscious of dark Eastern European coloring and ample thighs, better suited on Apollo Ohno than on me.

About half way into their workout they asked me to join them. The women who talked to me had a kind smile. Afterwards we exchanged emails.

That was almost four years ago. Today I run with them year-round and count them among friends. The “Quick Chicks” inspire me and push to be better, especially when my weaker side would rather nosedive for the chocolates.

Aging is inevitable, but growing old is a choice. Lace up your shoes, and let’s go.

Today is a rest day, no mileage; 470 miles from Denver to Boston logged; 1,299 miles left to go.   

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