Earlier this month ago, I ran my first 10k race.
But it was more than that.
Earlier this month, I caught a vision of greater support and camaraderie among strangers, rather than lonely competition.
And it was more than that.
Earlier this month, my friend Isabelle came alongside me with a deeper kind of support than I knew how to ask for.
Race Day Nerves
To say that I was nervous about the race was an understatement.
The night before, I imagined women lining up for the race in fancy tank tops and flashy sneakers, compared to my worn Asics that are begging to be replaced. I remembered high school cross-country races when the tall, lanky girls passed me and I plodded along, hoping not to finish last. That was thirty years ago. God, help me not to expect the worst.
I obsessed about what to eat right before the race. Because food is easier to focus on than what I’m afraid of.
Google suggested carbohydrates and electrolytes. My daughter Ellie has to ingest an extraordinary amount of electrolyte-fortified salt for her POTS condition. So I found myself sprinkling Ellie’s special salt on a berry smoothie. This is so weird.
When I got to Isabelle’s house, I realized I’d forgotten the waistpack to hold my keys and phone. The one I’d just bought for this race.
“Are you nervous?” I asked Isabelle.
She shook her head. “We’re just going for a run together. No pressure.”
“Right,” I mumbled, remembering the way my feet dragged last week when I attempted six miles alone. “With thousands of other women who have probably trained for this more than me.”
“We’re going to be fine,” Isabelle said firmly.
A New Perspective
The horn sounded just a little after nine AM.
In the first half mile, I noticed the diversity in our fellow runners. I saw bodies of all shapes and sizes, some that boasted wide curves and some that looked like a straight line. I noticed women of many ethnicities and cultures. I saw a diversity of ages: women as young as college students and women who would qualify for AARP benefits.
As we rounded a bend, suddenly I didn’t feel like we were competing against each other. I felt like we were women on a journey, all of us just focused on reaching the destination. That fast and furious pressure inside me dissipated. The worry about being overtaken or embarrassed evaporated. This was me, Isabelle, and a few thousand nameless folks who became companions for a morning. No one cared about our pace; no one seemed determined to beat anyone else. Along the way, volunteers cheered, popped confetti and offered us drinks and smiles.
As Isabelle and I gained on a woman whose run had slowed to a power walk, I searched for an encouraging word. Gray hair peeked out of the woman’s bun; her tank top and waist pack revealed a body accustomed to running. Maybe she had worried, like me, how this race might go.
“You’ve got this,” I whispered.
She turned her head, taken aback. “Well, thank you!”
I grinned at her in the brief moment that we held the same space. Then Isabelle and I surged forward.
I thought, what if I viewed my entire life like this: a series of adventures where I befriend strangers as essential companions on the journey, rather than viewing them as competitors, judges or enemies?
Running With an Ally
I always run alone. I like the flexibility of running on my own timetable and the lack of pressure to keep up with someone else.
But for this race, Isabelle and I agreed to stick together. I worried that I would slow her down, since she runs faster than I do, but she said that her race time didn’t matter. What she wanted was to be with me.
“You set the pace, but I’ll keep us aware,” she said, after we agreed that we’d start with a twelve-minute mile according to her watch. “Don’t start out too fast. If you do, I’ll make a motion like this.” She moved her arms in small circles, as if she was smoothing out pizza dough. “I’ll let you know our pace as we go.”
Within five minutes, Isabelle motioned for me to slow down. I took a breath and tried to quiet my desire to shoot out ahead. But she was right - we needed to pace ourselves. How often in life do I charge ahead, without awareness of my capacity, and feel exhausted halfway through a project? How often do I forget to check in with my body or my heart and lose touch with my needs?
At each mile marker, we celebrated our progress. When one of us slowed down to accept a cup of water, the other waited. Gradually, we ran faster and faster. As we neared the end of the race, I motioned to Isabelle that I wanted to go for it.
“You’re running under a ten-minute mile now.” She puffed. “I’m okay, just wanted you to know.”
I nodded. I felt inspired, lighter, and aware of the energy in my body.
We sped up together, running under a bridge, then up a hill. Isabelle tapped my arm at each quarter mile marker as we neared the finish.
I thought of my son, who runs on the high school cross country team. As a spectator, I always love watching the final lap, when my son accelerates towards the finish line. We yell until our voices break and then clap him on the back as he gasps for air.
I can sprint the final lap, I told myself. If my son can do it, so can I.
As we crossed the finish line, I could barely breathe, but I could grin.
The Gift of a Good Friend
To my surprise, I loved the experience of running a 10k. It was a significant accomplishment that I am proud of. Part of the reason it was successful was because I ran with a friend who prioritized relationships over accomplishment. Isabelle helped me to stay grounded when I felt anxious and offered a hopeful perspective. She helped me to believe that I could run this race when I doubted. We made this race about being together, rather than an artificial number on the clock.
It wasn’t just about race day. In the months before, Isabelle and I supported each other to invest in ourselves as runners, amidst the demands of full-time jobs and families. Although it was tempting to say no to this race because of Ellie’s health challenges, I’m glad I said yes. It’s hard for caregivers to make time for our own mental and physical health, but it’s essential for our sustenance.
Parenting teens through mental health challenges can be a long and lonely road. It’s easy to isolate, because of fear, shame, or the weight of our grief. Sometimes people don’t know how to support parents like us. But it’s important that we find friends who will love us unconditionally, listen without judgment, cry with us in the hardest times, and cheer when our neurodiverse teens take important steps forward. We need friends to help us keep going when we aren’t sure that we’ll make it, to remind us to pace ourselves, and to celebrate when we have enough energy to surge forward with joy.
As we experience love like this, may we become an “Isabelle” for others as well.
Grateful for your presence in my journey,
P.S. Before you go, please tap the little ♡. It offers “social proof” and lets others know there’s something useful here. Thanks!
🥹😘 love this!