this is not a victory speech

"You know, Rach, when you told me you were going to do this, I thought you were drunk or something. "

My father said this to me on the phone last night, and aside from the fact that it was no later than noon and I was driving a car on the highway when I told him, I can't blame him a bit. I'd have thought I was drunk too, if I weren't the one having the thought.

I'm not exactly sure what spurred me to sign up back in August. I had promised I would, sure, but that was months ago and the person I promised was out of my life and not about to hold up his end of the bargain, so I didn't owe anyone anything. But a promise is a promise, and a handshake deal is still a deal, even if it's certain that you'll be welched on. So I went to the Team in Training information session, and I signed a contract, and I began the story.

I had the narrative arc all set in my head. Sad, insecure fat girl embarks on a task that challenges her physically and emotionally, stumbles, gets back up, completes task and is thin and confident at the end and maybe even gets the guy back. Victory! Except what happened was "sad, insecure fat girl embarks on a task that challenges her physically and emotionally, gets an ear infection and doesn't run for a month, has a bitch of her time getting her barely-won groove back, doesn't finish the race because she's too slow, and feels like an asshole. Oh, and she's actually gained a little weight and the guy's long gone." Not the fairy tale ending I had hoped for.

But I know that there is a positive side. I know that I left the course only because I had to, and not because I just didn't want to do it anymore. Sure, I wish I'd gotten a more dramatic ending - either an arms-up dash across the finish line or being carried across by a hot EMT or something - but I pushed myself farther than I ever thought I could go, and that's something to be proud of. And, perhaps most shocking, I actually had a really good time. I danced. I ran. I met new people. I high-fived a tuba player. I took off my clothes in a Port-a-Potty. And I cried a lot, overwhelmed by the support of my friends and family (both in person and on the internet) and by the support of complete strangers.

This is the part where I talk about Team in Training.

The people involved with TNT almost literally carried me along the race course. Every 20 feet someone else in a purple singlet would cheer "Go Team!" at me. Or "Hey, Massachusetts, you got this!" Or "Hey, Rachel. You doing okay? You look strong!" Thousands of other racers had names on their backs, like I did, of people they were running in honor of. There were lots of slogans. "You think this is hard? Ask my wife about her chemo." "For my 4 year old niece." "I'm running for you." These shirts, and the people in them, propelled me further and faster than I thought I could go. Coaches sidled up to me, told me to pump my arms more and to keep my head up. They reminded us that happiness was a choice. That what we were doing, collectively and individually, mattered and that we should be proud. Team in Training raised 4 million dollars with that event alone, and that's money that will save lives. I am honored to have been a conduit for a fraction of that money getting to that organization. Thank you to all of you who gave. Thank you for being part of the team.

So, it wasn't the happy ending I had hoped for. And maybe that's okay. But maybe it's just that the story isn't over yet. Ask anyone I've ever dated, and they'll tell you that I'm not a girl who takes the word "no" very well. So there is a significant part of me that is ready to do this again next year, just to make sure I beat it. And maybe I will do that. Or maybe I'll do something else. A different race, or lion taming, or something else altogether. I'm turning 35 this year, after all, and I'll have to do something stupid to celebrate that. Whatever my next step ends up being, I'm grateful to know that you'll be there to run beside me, and that you're on my team.

Oh, boy. Here we go.

Tomorrow morning at 7 AM, I'll be on a flight to Orlando. I'll be spending every minute until then thinking about whether or not I've packed enough socks, whether or not I should bother trying to sleep tonight, and whether or not I should get on the plane at all. I already know the answers to those questions (I have, I won't, I should) but I'll obsess about them anyway. And then once I land I'll obsess about getting to the hotel, getting registered for the race, and drinking water. Then I'll obsess about my friends getting into town, and my dad getting into town, and whether my dad and my friends like each other or if I'll be forced to split my loyalties for some reason. (Won't happen, they're all wonderful.)

And so it will go, all weekend long, until 6 AM Saturday morning. Then the gun will go off, my feet will start to move, and I won't have to think about anything else until someone tells me to stop moving.

See you on the other side, when my brain starts up again.