One step, another step, I was so close to the finish line. People were cheering, yelling, and screaming around me. But I couldn’t hear anything, I was breathing so hard and my mind was zoning out. When I crossed the finish line, joy and satisfaction surrounded me. I felt water running down my face, but I couldn’t tell if it was tears or sweat. That was when I realized I did it, I finished the Tar Heel 10 Miler!
Around three months ago my dad encouraged me to sign up for Tar Heel 10 Miler. He is a semi-professional marathon runner; he runs almost every single day and has completed all kinds of marathons around the world.
He is my idol when it comes to running, though I rarely run with him the longest distance I could run was only 5k. But my dad encouraged me, saying that the marathon gene is in my blood, so if I practiced enough, it would be a piece of cake for me to complete the Tar Heel 10 Miler.
That was when my nightmare started. From the second I signed up, I was forced to participate in his “training from hell.” I needed to run at least three times a week. Sometimes I had to wake up at 5 a.m. to run or run after an exhausting school day. But either way, every single part of my muscles hurt.
My training plan was to start running from 5k and increase by one kilometer every day. At least one interval per week means running as fast as I can, then walking for a little and running again until I am close to passing out.
The training plan went “well” for a couple of months until one day when I was running in Bolin Creek, I accidentally stepped on a sycamore fruit and twisted my ankle. (I swear it was an accident.)
I was forced to stop the training plan. Deep down I was relieved that I could finally wake up as late as I wanted and my body wouldn’t feel like someone punched me a million times. I happily went back to my lazy life without training. Or did I?
As the time came closer to the competition, I felt more anxious and guilty for not training. Was my lazy lifestyle the life I wanted to live in? Or did I enjoy waking up early and being productive?
I can’t give an answer yet, but I started running again. It was only two weeks before the competition. I started doubting myself, thinking I was too slow or that 10 miles is too long. My dad soon gave me a solution to that. By the time it was only a week before the actual date, my dad and his running friends ran 12 miles with me together to get used to the route. It helped me feel more confident and more prepared.
On April 21, the big day came quietly. It was just a normal Saturday for anyone else, but that’s the day when I ran my very first long distance running competition.
After the 10 seconds countdown and the gunshot, over 5,000 people around me started running together. It was a miracle scene seeing that many people blocking Franklin St.
Even though my dad could probably run much faster, he was by my side and coaching me, encouraging me, telling me stories. With him by my side, I felt so safe and confident.
With so many great runners on my side and the audience cheering aside the road, they all motivated me. I felt tired but kept running. Even at the last mile when there was an extremely steep hill, when most people just started walking, my dad and I never stopped.
Then that was it. After looking forward to it for months, in an hour and forty-nine minutes, I finished.
When my friends and my family hugged and cheered for me at the finish line, I knew all the training was worth it.
If I go back to three months ago, I could never imagine myself running 10 miles. But now, here I am. I can finally call myself a runner and I know for sure that running is a part of my life now.
Image by Linda Li/The ECHO
