Progress?

Last night I ran a small, local 5 mile road race after work with some new friends.  It was fun, although oppressively humid.  I had done a hard 16 mile run the night before and then barely an 8-hour sleep later, a clean 10 mile run yesterday morning, with full intent of doing a double with the race in evening.  This is how I live now - make mine a double, please.  More notably, yesterday's running put me over the 1,000 mile mark for the year, so far.  I'd like to try and do at least 2,000 miles this year.  This is attainable.

When I got to the start line my legs felt squishy in the soggy air.  My first 2.5 miles were speedy; and all I could do was focus on breathing.  As I made it to mile 3, the humid air weighed heavily on my shoulders and my lungs felt like someone was suffocating me with a sock.  My legs felt heavy from the mileage and a by-product of several weeks of running 70-80 miles a week.  By mile 4 I felt like an obese 300-pound man, struggling to move, my chest heaving.  Then mile 5 appeared and...I won the race?!  I did just a measly 7:30 minute/mile - nothing spectacular by any stretch, so this was quite shocking.  However, because of the weather and because it was a small field, I somehow managed to win my first 5-mile race. 

While most people would be very excited, I'm actually a strange mix of emotions which is something that I wasn't expecting.  I thought about it for about 10 miles around the harbor this morning, I would have gone longer, but a thunderstorm rolled in and the lightning was getting rather dangerous. 

As much fun as winning was, there's a part of me that actually prefers to be a middle-of-the-pack runner.  As a mid-packer, striving to win is always there; there's always that goal, that possibility, that room for improvement.  When we achieve our goals and win, we are forced to re-evaluate, and perhaps that is exactly what is not sitting well with me.  Running is the one thing in my life that makes perfect sense to me, despite being extremely imperfect.  Running challenges me and pushes me to try harder, to do better, to run harder, to be a better person, worker, lover, daughter and friend.  Running humbles me and reminds me of my limitations while simultaneously making me feel superhuman.  The path though, is always defined for me - the finish line is always there and there's always someone to try and chase down and overtake. When this goal, this win is mine, now what?  I'm left feeling confused; where do I go next? 

I think my answer for right now is to go to bigger and better races, such as this weekend's marathon.  The marathon will knock me off that first place pedestal, for certain.  The marathon will break me down again.  The marathon will make me re-examine everything again and give me that nudge to keep pushing harder, to keep searching and striving and going the distance - in every aspect of my life.  The marathon will make me question myself all over again, the marathon will make me human, humble, happy.