At our summer track meets, one of the races some of the kids and adults participated in was a one-mile race. My kids always sat out of this one, preferring instead to watch the older kids sprint by. Because there were so many races those evenings (50m, 100m, 200m, 400m, 800m, relay, along with the mile), the only request made to run the mile was that you be able to run it in under 10 minutes.
I was always curious if I could do this. It seemed doable—after all, I ran a 5K in just over 33 minutes—surely I could run a single mile faster. But, I was too chicken to join those running, especially with so many finishing in 6, 7, 8 minutes.
Today, I gave it a shot.
I haven’t run in a long while; I have only just started exercising again (hi, Shredheads, it’s been a while!). But the cool fall-weather day had me itching to put on my sneakers and hit the road.
I mapped out a single mile, stretched out, and took off down the street.
I felt like I was flying at first, really sprinting. Even at the uphill about halfway through, I felt strong and quick. The last couple of minutes were a real struggle but my arms were pumping, legs striding.
I crossed the mile, and glanced at my watch, certain I must have done it in eight, maybe nine minutes.
Blink. Blink.
9:46.
Whoa, I JUST beat that ten-minute mark. Barely.
Running is so humbling.
There are days when a half-mile feels like a marathon. Times when every little incline is a “hill” to be conquered. Times when I feel like I must have run four miles, only to find out it was just over three (that hurts).
But, there is nothing else that makes me feel so connected to my body and its ability to push itself beyond what I think is possible. And though I barely got in under ten minutes, I did it.
And that is good enough for me.
Though next time? I’d better break 9:30.
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