my twenty one gun salute

I was super conscious of my body the entire time. My feet shuffling back and forth. My shadow bouncing off the pavement, sometimes intermingling with others who were either falling behind or trying to overtake me. And my breath, steady. I had the beats blasting but not enough to drown out the cries and the cowbells of volunteers who had lined up on the side of the road, waving placards and offering plastic cups at every kilometre or so. It all made it even more difficult to not keep track - even if I refused to glance at my iPhone during the entire race. The first ten kilometres seemed to go by quite effortlessly. The sun and the wind felt great. I had time to take in the lake and some clever placards like Getting up at 8:30 isn't easy either. It was actually only some fifteen minutes or so later when I was forced off to the side of the road for a quick whiz that I realized my feet were actually tingling with pins and needles. Until then, my biggest challenge was figuring out the best way to chew those gummy electrolyte snacks and gulp down those water cups without making a mess of myself. But as the minutes dribbled by I slowly started to feel the weight of what I was putting my legs through. After the fifteen kilometre mark I could no longer simply rationalize the remaining distance as simply being less than before. My brain was starting to protest. The wind felt like it was picking up. The gulf between all of us was expanding and there were less people to overtake. I had to stop for another twenty seconds. I knew those last twenty minutes were going to be the toughest yet. My feet were on fire. Women in tights were just not doing it for me any more and all the cheers of encouragement could not get my legs moving any faster. I felt my motivation wavering and wondered when those endorphins were going to kick in. The Asian guy running with the baby carriage finally overtook me. But I never stopped again. I could sense the Falls around every bend in the road. I was making the final approach. I kept my head down and avoided any eye contact, concentrating only on my feet. I promised myself I would break into whatever sprint was left in me once the finish line was in sight. I powered downhill and slowed down only on the last step out of some inexplicable bad habit. Amy wasn't there to greet me. I walked on and absent-mindedly took the medal from an older lady who was trying to place it over my head. I was dazed and almost cried for one second. This was a silent and lonely victory, the way most victories tend to be.

It would be hours until the endorphins hit - until I realized just how important this race was for me.