The race in through the looking glass.

The sun dappling through the trees, the neighbors on the sidewalks or curbs, cheering us or chatting to one another, and the biggest smile on my face. No headphones, no idea of the route, just me and an occasional mantra, “you’re only racing yourself.” Near the finish line, the clock suddenly comes into view and I realize I’ve run this 10K seven or eight minutes faster than my previous best. I exclaim, “holy shit!” (in front of a crowd of elementary schoolers - the race is a school fundraiser - oops) and leap across the finish line. The best race of my life.

I tried to run this race last year. I meant to train and just couldn’t - a preschooler, a baby, back at work part-time, applying for jobs, a flea infestation - it was too much. I planned to run it anyway, but on the morning of the race I needed to put the kids’ contact lenses back in, neither of them were cooperating, and I just couldn’t get out the door. At the time it felt devastating. So what a contrast this year, a mark of how far we’ve come. The morning was leisurely. My husband brought the kids to a park along the route and they cheered me on, shouting, “Go, Mama, go!” And I waved back with my whole being, emphatic and exuberant.