I’m a dreamer. I see things with rose-colored glasses, and I know it. I tend to be an optimist, and I tend to think I can achieve more than I’m actually capable of doing. It’s why my calendar stays over-booked and consistently bite off more than I can chew. But I like new things, and I love new adventures. I love challenges, and I love pushing myself further to see what I’ve got in me.
Last summer, I started running with the goal of completing a half-marathon. If you know the past version of Victoria, you know just how big of a deal that is. I was the girl who always made the joke, “If you see me running, chances are high you should be running, too.” I started slowly running a mile at a time. Before long, I increased it to three miles. And somewhere along the way, I stopped hating running. I don’t know when it happened exactly, but I remember after one especially tough and stressful day at work, all I wanted to do was run. Even in that moment, I remember thinking how crazy it seemed that I wanted to run. And as a stress reliever at that.
When I started running last fall, I asked my small group to help me pray through it. Running wasn’t enjoyable and it was a real struggle to make myself do it. They prayed with me that running would become a desire, and something I’d find joy in doing. That I’d get stronger and faster, and it would be something I looked forward to instead of something I dreaded. Earlier this year, I received a text from a friend in that group reminding me I’d asked them to pray with me about this. And God had honored that request. Somewhere along way, I began to look forward to (most of) my runs. When a few days would pass without a run, I’d crave lacing up my sneakers and hitting the road.
Monday night before the half, I came home from work feeling especially tired. By 7 p.m., I had chills, a fever and was feeling nauseated. I couldn’t keep anything down for the next two days, no food, no water, nothing. I’d worked so hard for eight months to prepare for Saturday’s run, and now, four days before, I was going to lose it all. I went to the doctor Wednesday only to be told what I already knew. A virus. No drugs could help. The silver lining was perfect blood sugars and no ketones. By Thursday, I was eating and the fever was gone. What was a stomach bug had morphed into some colossal head cold. I hacked. I coughed. I sneezed. But still, I was determined to run on Saturday.
My endocrinologist gave me the green light to run so long as I met a list of requirements. No ketones. Check. Normal blood sugars. Check. Keeping food down. Check. Nausea gone. Check. No fever. Check.
Then Friday night happened. My left ear clogged up, and I couldn’t hear. There was a tremendous pressure, and nothing I could do seemed to clear it. I woke up every couple of hours coughing and begging God to make it stop. A low-grade fever returned, and I doubted everything. When 5 a.m. race day rolled around, I didn’t think I could do it. I decided I’d rather start the race and quit than not start at all. I laced up my sneakers, grabbed my diabetes bag and headed for downtown. As Rosemary and I waited for our corral to start, I silently prayed I could do this. I prayed for mental stamina and endurance, and I prayed for my symptoms to subside. Five minutes before our corral started, my ear popped. Completely clear. I could hear everything around me and the pressure was gone. Such a relief.
The run was slow, my slowest ever. But I finished. Rosemary, as kind and gracious as she is, ran with me at a snail’s pace most of the way. I expected it to be a tough mental battle, but it wasn’t. Mentally, it was one of my best runs. I don’t know where my brain was, but it wasn’t fighting with my heart to keep me on the course. Physically, it was one of my toughest runs ever. I coughed the whole way, more so when I stopped to walk, which quickly became motivation to keep running. Having the relief from ear was wonderful, and it made all the difference. I started to cry when I neared the finish line, but stopped because I was having trouble catching my breath. It was an emotional run, but I mostly felt relief after finishing.
My blood sugars spiked at the start but came down immediately and were perfect the rest of the day. I had to eat quite a bit to maintain the straight line, but I never went low. The weather cleared prior to the race, and we never felt a drop of rain. It was a day full of gratefulness.
Saturday afternoon, I battled several nosebleeds and the ear issue reemerged. Still, I finished. I’m still battling the head cold and the ear issue, and I wonder how much of that was compounded by running. It doesn’t matter though, because given the opportunity again, I’d make the same choice. This run was about me; it was personal. It was about teaching myself to run, and learning to enjoy it in the process. It was about mental hurdles and eight months of work. I needed the 30,000 people running alongside me. I needed the thousands of people cheering us on along the way (Well done, Belmont and 12South neighborhoods! Well done!). I needed to run this race and finish this 13.1. And by the grace of God, I did. To me, this was 13.1 miles that solidified the power of prayer. It was a journey that taught me about relying on God though all the ups and downs, in training and in the race. It was a process that turned into a full life lesson.
I plan to run it again next year, healthy, full of energy and with a new time goal in mind. I have big goals, and I’m so happy I reached this one. But before next year’s half, I have a ride in Burlington to focus on. Let’s get started on that together, shall we?
www2.jdrf.org/goto/victoriacumbow5