Tough Girls Don't Quit

6:15 a.m. I rolled out bed, 45 minutes before my usual time.

6:25 a.m. I ate my usual breakfast of oatmeal with milk, fruit and almonds.

7:15 a.m. I was out the door and headed for "the big squeeze" at the Women's Clinic.

8:45 a.m. I was back home dressing for my usual run.

9:00 a.m. I headed out the door.

1/4 mile point. I gasped for air in the 18 degree wind chill. "I . . .forgot. . . my. . . inhaler," I told my running partner.

1/2 mile point. "I am. . . just going. . . to run. . . two miles," I announced. We headed for the park, a bit of respite against the gusts of wind. A skiff of snow covered the road and trail. A few slow jogging steps revealed no icy spots, so I picked up the pace a bit. Gusts of wind shoved me around now and then, but not enough to knock me off the trail. Gasps for air turned into steady, hard breathing as I found a pace that matched my limited ability to breath.

2nd mile point. "Still here," I shouted to my partner, who was only a few steps ahead of me. Determined now to run my usual three miles, I stopped praying for others and began reciting my desperation mantra.

"Knees, arms, breathe. Knees, arms, breathe."

At the top of a hill, I realized I was maintaining my running partner's pace. Now he had had a root canal yesterday and was still hurting a bit. Nonetheless the fact that I was still with him in the wind sans inhaler encouraged me. I determined to maintain the pace.

2 1/2 mile point. My early breakfast fuel ran out. With knees of jelly and lungs aching, I approached the last hill.

"I think I can, I think I can" turned into "Tough girls don't quit" sung to the tune of "Big Girls Don't Cry".

I remembered my partner's past commands to "maintain the running motion" and urged myself on. I slogged over the crest of the hill and down to the finish line. This girl didn't quit. (But I hope I do remember my inhaler next time!)

"I Want to Run"

"I want to run," were the first words out of Eliza's mouth when she woke up at Grammie Nete's house Saturday morning.

And so we bundled up against the 20 degree air and headed for the park. Sister wasn't interested in running and I had arranged to run with my running partner later in the day, so we counted laps towards Eliza's two-mile goal.

The last time she ran with me, she couldn't run more than one lap (1/4 mile) without getting winded. She had been sick and out of school for a week with a nasty cough and fever. She said that she just couldn't run in the cold; it made her cough.

I said, "You've been sick for over a week, and with a lung thing. You'll see. You'll get your strength back."

She ran Saturday without a walk break and in the cold. As we walked back into my toasty apartment, Eliza said, "I really want to reach my goal. I don't know why, but I really, really want to do that."

Her goal is 100 miles.

I don't have her enthusiasm. For me running has just been something else to tick off my to-do list. It is hard and it hurts. Lately though I've used my inhaler before every run and find I am running stronger. Lungs hurt less. Today I hit the hill at the park hard on every lap. And it actually felt good to do so, to work hard.

Perhaps the encourager has become the encouraged one. Isn't that how it often works? When we set out to encourage or bless another, it's oftentimes we ourselves who really receive the blessing.