One Year Ago

This time last year, I was resting to prep for the Goofy Race.

I remember sitting on the edge of the fountain in the lobby of the Coronado Springs hotel.

It was 3:30am and I was waiting for my Dad to show up in his costume, which I had yet to see.

I remember thinking that this was all a dream, and that this had been the loftiest goal I’d ever dreamed up.

How could it already be race morning?

Listening to Some Disney tunes...

How could it be possible, that just five short days ago, I thought I’d be running both races solo, with my lil family and my in laws at the finish line, and now, today, my Dad is running alongside me for the half marathon and will be waiting for me, with my Mom and everyone else after the marathon.

To say that the weekend was a dream come true would be a huge, huge understatement.

I dreamt up the goal more than a year before, but found myself unexpectedly pregnant instead, so when the time came to re-register for the following year, I was fully aware of the time it would take to train and the fact that the new baby would be just shy of 8 months old.

I am not a detail-oriented person, however, I am stubborn as a bull, and when I decide I’d like to pursue a goal, come hell or high water, I will accomplish it.

(Unless it involves giving up donuts.  I won't do that.  Nope.)

I was very, very emotional at the finish line.

3:33am.  January 10, 2015.

We look like a Disney Race poster, no?

My Dad comes into the lobby of the hotel wearing a Prince Charming costume that’s been combined with regular running gear to create, complete with white gloves, a beautiful and amazing costume.

On that day, as we rode the shuttle to the start line, waited in long ques for porta potties, where just steps away there were dozens of empty ones, and then made the long, long, very long, trek to our corral, my Dad got many shout outs for his costume.

I, in my very original Anna costume, got few.

To have a goal, an aspiration, and then to have your family stand alongside you, not only encouraging you, but even participating, has been something I’ve spent a year trying to put into words.

Best.  Running partner.  Ever.

I am a grown-ass woman.  I am a grown-ass woman with three kids and a husband, which I think gives me a few cred points in the game of attempting to adult.

And, yet, last year, I flew to Florida and then California, to run a half marathon in Disneyworld, and then Disneyland, with my Mom and Dad.

And it will forever be one of the most memorable years of my life.

How in the hell did I ever get so lucky, as to deserve all of this?

When resolution time rolls around, for many, many years, I had the same ones every year.

I want to lose weight.

*sits back, puts hands behind back and waits for this magical thing to just “occur”*

But for the first time ever, and with no relation to New Years whatsoever, I set out to run injury free, which I knew meant losing weight, because my body was suffering, having to carry 50 extra pounds, each time I set out to hit the pavement in my runners.

I want my kids to be proud.  I want them to say, for their whole lives, that their Mom is a runner.  An athlete.  An inspiration.

I want my husband to smile when he thinks of the obstacles I’ve faced, and be proud of the fact that none of the goals I set would be possible without him.

I want my Mom and Dad to be proud of me, and I know they are, because they’ll fly five timezones to be with me over the biggest running weekend I’ve ever embarked upon.

And most importantly, I want to make sure that I’m proud of me.

I want for New Years to come and go, and to make small, silly goals, because what I’m really thinking, is, how  can I possibly top THAT year?!?!

I want to come upon every January 1, and have not one regret for the year I lived before that.

It’s been around 18 months since I truly took control of my health, and to say that I only felt like I was living my life fully from then on would not be an exaggeration.

I remember getting dressed in my Mrs.Incredible costume on the morning of the marathon.  I felt very unsure of myself, and my feet were tired and beginning to blister, so I was already feeling a little bit defeated.  I was emotional.  I was fragile.  I was on the verge of crying during that entire, 5:00:12 race.  I DID cry.  Several times.  But more than that, and more than ever, I felt strong, invincible and capable of any-damn-thing.

I will forever cherish the memory of coming around the corner to see the giant inflatable Baymax character, and bursting into full, hyperventilating, ugly sobs.

It was around mile 20, which is when I truly find my grit during the marathon.  It gets hard.  And there’s many miles still to go.  But I'd already run so many.

Part one of two, and only 1/3 of the distance was complete.

Yikes.

So, so many tears.  Thank GOD for

fake lashes!

Big Hero 6 is a fleeting movie.  It will likely fade into my childrens’ memories, like many of their current obsessions do. It was not so much the character, but what it meant to me in that moment.

My little girl, who had just turned five, was waiting for me at the finish line.  My little girl, as well as her adoring little sister and their baby brother, who all have been the greatest motivators of my life.  Who have inspired me to be the best me I can be, were in love with this giant white character, and as if on cue, the corresponding song came on my iPod.  In that single moment, I was able to dig deep.  To dig beyond my most uncomfortable place, and carry through, strong through the finish line.

I was a warrior that day.

I am not an elite athlete.  I am just clinging to the back of the “mid pack”.

But my kids.  They think I’m a real life friggin’ super hero.