One evening last October I was sitting in my room at the Hotel Triton in San Francisco with two of my closest running companions, “who do you think you are kidding” and “you are so NOT a runner.” I was feeling sick to my stomach as I contemplated what would be the reality of my first marathon. It was a relief when my phone rang and interrupted my night-before-race-day preparations. It was my husband and kids calling to wish me luck one last time. In the course of the conversation my husband told me about an outing they had taken earlier that day. They were out for a walk, my husband pushing the girls in the double stroller, when my oldest (3 at the time) said, “Stop, I want to walk…no, I want to run like mommy!” As you can imagine, this was all the motivation I needed to carry me through the next day’s race. In fact, her words have become a sort of mantra to me for life in general.
Many of you know that I helped to organize a race on August 2nd. It was the Run for Rwanda raising funds to build a health clinic in Kibali, Rwanda. The race was a huge success. Participation far exceeded our hopes and we are still receiving donations. I will post more about the race later.
The event I am most proud to report on took place that morning as well, my daughter’s first race. The children’s 1K race was to begin at 9:30. It was hot, well into the 90s. I looked at the course and realized 
what a long distance it would be for a young 4-year-old. I began to worry and question our decision to have her run the race. Should we short-cut across the field? Will she be devastated and embarrassed if she can’t finish? 
Too late – the race has started. Her cheeks are red, she’s breathing hard, I’m a nervous wreck. But she runs and runs and runs some more! I ask if she needs a drink and she whispers a breathless, “no, not yet.” Friends who love her and even strangers along the course cheer her on and yell words of encouragement. We make the final turn (which I thought would never come) onto the grass and she falls down. As she stands up, her eyes fill with tears and her little mouth pulls taut. But not one tear escapes; instead she sets her eyes on that distant finish line and continues running all the way to the end.
She has told me many times since the race of all the people who were there just to cheer for her. While it is true she had many fans that day, I pray she knows her biggest fan was running beside her all the way.
I’m still accompanied on my runs by those companions I mentioned earlier, but that little three-year-old (at the time) voice is pretty powerful, the image of her giving it her all is compelling. So thank you, Lilly – I want to run like you too!
