I Go Before You

When I look back,

I think I ran my brains out...or maybe, my heart.

I'm not sure, but for almost six years, I got up at 4:30 in the morning, and ran and ran.  I curated play lists, scouted routes--independent of anything except my kicks and ear buds, I ran through neighborhoods, parks, races, and I was happy...really happy.

Until one day, I wasn't. 

I couldn't get myself up and out...not even with really witty Instagram motivational quotations.  Instead of feeling free, I felt angry about leaving the house when it was dark.  It probably doesn't help that simultaneously, I started teaching graduate classes, cultivating my private mediation practice, and working at my kiddos' school.  Maybe, I was burned out.

And then, for some reason a few months ago, friends started asking me to run races, and instead of looking at my squishy mid section and flabby legs and politely declining, I said yes.  And now, I have four races on the books. 

In preparation for a summer race, I've been trying to run five miles every day--which is going to be the death of me.  On one walk to the park, my 11-year old daughter Kate said, "sometime, can I run with you?"  To which, I instantly responded, "absolutely!" It's kind of like the coveted talk where I dream that she asks to drink coffee or wine or write poetry with me....all of which have yet to happen.

Staring at a big hill she said, "can we practice now?  I mean, like on this, and be done at the top?"  I gulped, "sure."  Half way up, she backed off, and huffing and puffing,  I said, "do you wanna stop?"  "Naw, keep going," she screamed.

And so, I did, slow and steady up the incline.

When I got to the top, I cheered for her as she ran/walked the remainder.  I told her that she was strong and brave and that if she could do this hill, she could do anything.  Hills are hard, but rewarding.

To which she retorted, "I knew I could, because you did first."  I got big tears in my eyes. 

The following morning on a solo run, I hit a hill.  Ill prepared without water and salty sweat streaming into my eyes, I thought of Kate.  I pretended that she was behind me watching what I did, noticing how hard I wanted it.  And I promised myself that I would go before her.  I would do it, so that she would know that she could too.

There are countless shitty components of motherhood.  Discipline, back talk, hormones, incessant whining, homework, sibling fighting, entitled shenanigans, bitchy attitudes...but in the midst, you realize that someone very, very important is watching.  And that ultimately, your actions speak infinitely louder than the gibberish coming out of your mouth. 

In that moment, for a brief second, it becomes incredibly clear, that you have the opportunity to influence another more than anyone else in the world.  And you get to choose whether you'll go first and make positive change, or whether you'll squander the privilege. 

I've made my share of mistakes, but in that moment, I climbed the hill...and so did she.  And someday, she'll go before someone else, and hopefully, she'll climb, even if it's hard...I guess, especially if it's hard.

Here's to climbing...gradually, intentionally knowing the importance of going before another.