Some of you already know I was the victim of a violent crime in 2012. You can read more about it here.
At the time I was attacked by a stranger on August 1, 2012, I had just started training for a half-marathon. For those unfamiliar, that's 21.1 kilometers!
I had never been an active person; my entire life, the only reason I exercised was to burn calories and try to make my body smaller. This created a very poor relationship between myself and physical activity, which I am happy to say no longer exists. Today, I see exercise as an opportunity to get stronger and take care of my future health.
I am truly impressed by my sheer will to achieve this goal. The only thing I got out of running was participation medals. I did not experience a dopamine rush or endorphins—perhaps because I never pushed myself to run strenuously or outside my comfort zone (which, at its max, was 8 km/hr). I loved the bling, colors, and designs of all the medals I could collect just from finishing and had a cool medal holder hanging on the wall. My training runs were also bonding time with my dog Asia, who would run alongside me (usually at a slow trot as I was extremely slow at running). I truly value that time I got to spend with her, just the two of us - one hating the run, the other reveling in it.
On August 1, my training came to an immediate halt. The world I had known became a very dangerous place and there was no way I would be leaving my house for training runs, or anything else for that matter.
It wasn't until January (the race I had signed up for was in July) that I decided I wasn’t going to give up. I was going to get back on that horse and do it for the me that existed before someone hurt me.
I started on a treadmill in our basement. I would spend the entire time counting down seconds and metres. It was mentally exhausting, spending sometimes hours battling my brain, which was screaming, "We can quit any time! We don't need to be doing this! Let's go eat cake and watch TV!"
I kept at it somehow. Hundreds of kilometres run on the basement treadmill and many more on the streets of Fort McMurray, with my dog and husband in tow on a bike. I was so slow when he followed behind me he wasn't able to go fast enough to keep the bike upright. At one point, he found a long stick and jokingly would poke me with it to urge me onward. The longest ride he did was 18km, which was pure torture considering he was basically just walking the bike along in the heat.
By race day in July, I was as ready as I could be. Up to that point, the longest I had ever run was 20 km, so I wasn't sure how I would do. I had done a 10K race in town and having so many others running up behind me was a repeated shock to my system, causing me to go into "high alert." But I still finished, as I intended to do on my first half-marathon.
It was a long slog, but I truly enjoyed the anticipation among all the runners before the event, the camaraderie during the race, and all the amazing people cheering from the sidelines. That’s really what got me through—all those strangers cheering me on.
Of course my husband was there - he became "Coach" and would hold my jacket and bag and wander around the race route for as long as it took me. My longest time ever was over three hours - that man is so patient! He spent his time wandering around, texting me updates from things he was seeing and hearing along the course. He was always at the finish line, ready to celebrate my victory with me.
The race itself went great, but when I was running my last kilometre, it was like a floodgate broke. I realized I was going to meet this goal I made for myself, to help pick me up from the depths of my sorrows and fear. I had done it, I had overcome my experience and my fears to finish this race. My body also broke at the same time, and I started getting terrible muscle spasms in my legs. I guess I should have run the entire length at least once to make sure I could do it.
But I finished with tears on my cheeks, legs like jello, and feeling like I was going
to vomit everywhere. It was a message to myself and those who did not support me through my experience that I could do it and I would be OK.
And I was OK. I went on to run hundreds of kilometers and at least six half-marathons in places like Kelowna, Vancouver, and California. I don't run today and no longer have the medals—I lost an entire rack full in the wildfires. I had "retired" by then but came out of retirement to refill a second rack.
I haven’t run in years due to not wanting to force myself to do something I did not enjoy and developing serious foot problems.
While I did not feel the amazing physical outcomes others may get from running, I made some close friends, witnessed feats of heart and courage on the courses, and learned just how much I could persevere. Some of the most memorable people who passed me (and inspired me greatly!) on the many race courses I ran were: women who were very pregnant, firefighters in full gear (they were fundraising), and a mid-80s year old woman who broke a record that day.
I still truly value seeing others run and cheering them on at races. That’s why HeartSpark will be at a water table, creating special signs to cheer on those running the Fort McMurray Marathon for their own reasons.
If you would like to support HeartSpark as your Run for a Reason, you can select us as your "cause" during registration. More info on that here.
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