After I returned to Chicago, my sister and my running friends were there for me. So was running. Then it was about getting through this transition: From who I was before I left to who I was now, and who I would be next.
When I met and married my husband, I was ready to embrace a new chapter. New races, new challenges, and a new partner who supported and encouraged me in all that I wanted to do. I ran a half marathon through Central Park in New York with my dearest friend. I ran in Paris under the Eiffel Tower and over the Seine. I ran along the Mediterranean Sea in a medieval town on our honeymoon in Spain. I completed two triathlons, despite my inexperience in open water swimming. He always asked me, “Did you win your race?” I would laugh and say, of course I did.
I ran fearlessly towards my new life.
I ran until just a few weeks before our first son was born. And a few months later, I ran with him in the jogging stroller that was a gift from my running friends. I was grateful.
A few years after that, when his brother arrived, I ran with him, too. Our sunrise outings helped us both – a few more minutes of sleep for my early rising baby and some fresh air for me. And I was running again, with new partners and priorities.
These days my two young boys run everywhere and I jog along behind as best I can. Recently they did a kids’ race that’s part of my favorite neighborhood 5K. They did their dash with reckless joy and abandon – arms and legs churning as fast as they could as they barreled down the 100 yard course toward me. They grinned as they ran and I embraced them as they crashed over the finish line into my arms.
We walked home wearing our race numbers, holding hands. They admired their medals and asked, “Did you win your race, too, Mama?” Their faces, proud and shining glowed with joy and health in the morning light.
“Yes, baby,” I said, “Of course I did. I won for sure.”