Proof

Six months ago I couldn’t run to the mailbox without being winded. This morning I ran 3.1 miles in 34 minutes and 17 seconds.

Proof

The tears started about fifty yards from the finish line when I saw Marcus and the kids cheering like I was winning the Boston Marathon. Sophie was jumping up and down, Theo was yelling something about dinosaurs being fast runners too, and Marcus had that proud husband face that makes me fall in love with him all over again.

I started running because last year broke me a little. Not in a dramatic way, just in a slow, steady way that made me feel like I was disappearing into everyone else’s needs. The morning runs became my time to remember who Elena is when she’s not being Mom or Wife or Nurse. Every step was me taking up space again.

Victory hugs hit different when your husband believed in you from mile zero

The medal is sitting on my kitchen counter right now and I keep looking at it. Thirty-four minutes might not sound fast to anyone else, but to me it sounds like proof. Proof that I can set a goal and show up for it every single day, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

Marcus made pancakes to celebrate and keeps calling me ‘his runner.’ The kids want to know if I’m going to run a marathon next. I told them let’s start with not crying at a 5K finish line first.