I remember when...

I've been thinking about this post for a while. It's the first part of a two post reflection on the last year.  2012 was a wild year for me, but success isn't anything more than just a finish line if you don't remember where you started.

So... In no particular order:

I remember seeing the picture of my fire chief on his desk from when he crossed an Ironman finish line.

I remember thinking, "Maybe I could do that."

I remember thinking, "I never want to do this again!"

I remember when three miles was a daunting task.  Texas heat and humidity were excuses.  Rain, cold weather, and darkness were good reasons not to go.

I remember when I went and just ran.  I didn't have any idea how to train, and I couldn't understand the notes on many of the training plans that I tried to use.  I just ran.

I remember when getting faster seemed impossible.

I remember when I didn't know how to carry water, didn't know anything about nutrition and finished so many of my runs weak, sick, and swearing I would never run again.

I remember running again.

I remember signing up for races and looking at the previous year's times to make sure I wouldn't be the last person across the line.

I remember hurting during my runs and afterward because I was wearing the shoes that I thought were pretty, rather than the ones that were right for me.

I remember when an hour run was my long run, not my usual training runs during the week.

I remember my very first race.

I remember running for health (well, 'cause I figured out that running meant I could eat more), running for stress relief, and running because I finally saw improvement.

I remember wanting so badly to win.

I remember finally placing for the first time in a small local race.

I remember realizing that it wasn't about winning.

I remember when my priorities changed.

I remember being so overcome with emotion that I might actually finish my first marathon.  And somewhere in that 26.2 miles I realized how great of analogy the marathon is for life. I also realized in that 26.2 miles that I was just beginning to learn who I might be and what I was capable of.

I remember telling my husband that I was never running a marathon again.

I remember letting go of expectations. And finding out that I was better that I'd been letting myself be. 

I remember finding myself out there.

I remember finding some great friends that teach me so much about life, the universe and everything. (42)

I remember being in dark places. During races, during training runs, during life. But I remember there isn't a dark place that a pair of sneakers can't help me get out of. 

I'm sure there's more.  I've finally gotten the kids (including the big one) to bed, and I'm typing this out on my phone.

But I look in the mirror sometimes and wonder who the athlete is that's standing in front of me.  Because I remember.