Tears of Joy. A greater purpose in running.

As I sit here typing this blogpost - soon to become a babble-fest I am sure - I am crying tears of joy. You would think that I had just finished my first half-marathon. It was my 8th.

Over 24 hours later I am still so emotional. I just cannot help it.

I know it was not a marathon, but it was my race. It was my run.

I met a wonderful lady at the expo who just beems with such amazing joy for running and runners a like. What caught my eye was the shirt she was wearing. It completely embodied my running philosophy so perfectly, I just stopped in my tracks.

Her shirt quite simply said "It is your run. Embrace every step."

You get out the door before the sun rises, the run is yours
You finish your run when you kids are sleeping, the run is yours
You begin to make excuses, but you stay motivated, the run is yours
It wasn't your easiest, bset or most fulfilling run, but it is yours
It was the best run you have had in a while, the run is yours
No one can take those first, middle, or last steps of your run for you

Lori Brauer is her name, and she is a runner. And she handmakes sterling silver jewelry with motivational running sayings, in a fashion that does not scream running "camp". Of course I bought a beautiful necklace from her, but more important than her goods is the good she is doing.

She was telling me about a group of ladies she runs with and how they have helped motivate her through the start of her company, as well help motivate her on her runs.

The message emblazoned upon her shirt, and now around my neck, reminds me that the run is mine - that I must own it regardless of the outcome. It was a sign that I met her. It definitely was a sign, because the message she is showing the world has been my mantra for the past few months.

I wore the necklace out on my run and would recite to myself the message - I own the run. Come good, come bad, I must embrace each step as each step is mine and only mine. And I knew that from the first step, through the shin-splints, through the breezy 7 miles without pain, through the run/walk sessions, through the last mile where I broke down and realized that I did it. I owned it and I was going to set a PB for this course.

I still get so teary thinking about the sight of Comerica. It is not the finish line, but an indicator that it is fast approaching. And it is amazing how even though I knew the course, it was my tird time running it afterall, I was new to this race. To the race I had set out upon a mere 2 hours and 40 minutes earlier. This run was not the Freep of 2005, nor was it the Freep of 2004. This run was my Freep, and I needed to respect it as that.

I set out knowing I had the capability to do this and that I would not focus on the numbers, as that is what has tripped me up every year. I focus too much on the numbers and not enough on the run. On the steps I am taking.

This year I memorized every single step. I distinctly remember starting out, splitting from my friend Amanda at mile 2, trudging up the first hill, and then trudging up the bridge. I remember with such joy the feeling of the pain leaving my body as I started the bridge decent, and the nearly 4 miles in Windsor, Ontario, CN where I felt like I was just skating on air. I felt amazing and the run respected that. No. Scratch that. I respected the run. I took in the sights of the Detroit skyline and the Windsor Ascention Park. I took in the apartments and the people out there cheering for us. And I ran. I ran like I had literally never ran that course before.

It was my run. And I embraced every step. Those were my steps out there. No one elses. Mine. And I owned each and every one of them.

I remember quite vividly approaching the tunnel and pausing for a moment even if only in my mind - oh my God. I made it. There is no line of fellow runners who got stuck. There was no bus waiting to shuttle us over to the other side. It was open, and people were cheering - for ME. Oh my God they were cheering for me! Not telling me that I only had a few minutes to make it, nor were they telling me that I missed the cut-off and would have to wait for the bus to take me to the US. No - they were cheering me on to my fastes underwater time to date. It was like they all knew what I had gone through last year - the sadness of it all. It was as if they wanted me to take this victory over the tunnel - to own it. And I did.

I remember running through the tunnel with a speed I had never done in a half-marathon. The decent was swift, the rise was a little less so, and I averaged an 11:02 mile. I was still restraining myself because I did not want to get burnt out - and I was wise. When I emrged from the tunnel I felt renewed. Reborn. I knew it was mine. I had bought it and had my reciept. I owned it.

Miles 9 - 12 are sort of a blur. I remember seeing Amanda's husband Dan and telling him that she was well ahead of me at this point, and I remember music and the TNT cheerleaders cheering on the sea of Purple I was with. I remember plodding along until I hear a familiar voice - over all the voices I was hearing mind you - I hear this familiar voice yell out "Hey Babe, good job!"

It was my running partner from the past few years. What are the odds? I then realized that we were at mile 12, and I was getting close. I remember rounding the corner and catching a glimpse of Comerica Park. I lost it. I knew then what I had accomplished. It was all mine.

I was the one who ran solo for all for those miles the past few months. I am the one who got up early to get in the mileage, who stayed up late getting in the miles, and even ran in the cold hard rain with nothing but me and my iPod listening to Pheddipidations to get those darn miles in. I did it. I put in the time, the effort, and the attitude. All for this run. This run which was mine. And I owned it.

Realizing what I have been through in the past year and a half - this is a huge step for me. One of the many steps on my journey.

I did it. I really really did it. *beaming* When I lost faith in myself you were all cheering me on. And I did it.

I am a runner girl.