The Finish Line

It wasn't easier.  But I trained less this year.  And I gave myself permission before the race to walk if I needed to.  But I guess I never really needed to, because I never stopped to walk.

It was different this time.  I wasn't doing something for the first time.  I wasn't at the brim of tears for achieving something I worked so hard at.  It wasn't as emotional.  I didn't have as much riding on it.  I was just doing something that I now do each year and am really proud of myself for doing.

I shaved a couple of minutes off of my time from last year, but I am not really concerned with time.  When I am running the 5K, I only care about finishing.  (Said like a true slow runner.) 

And, as always, there is no better feeling than the one that you feel when you see Mile Marker 3.  Because that means there is only .1 left.  And that .1 is the easiest running you'll ever do.  It's the type of running that you can do while holding your daughter's hand and smiling.  It's feel-good running, and I wish I could capture that feeling and bottle it and use it in other aspects of my life.

This year has been different than the past few.  I can't say it's been great, but it's been better.  Life without my mom has always been a journey, I've said that before, but there have been times where I've seen the metaphorical Mile Marker 3.  Where it's not only no longer a burden to go on, but a joy.  There have been times where I've been living in the .1--me: pessimistic, sarcastic Dana, seeing mile 3, moving faster, grabbing my kid's hand, smiling, smooth moving for the last bit of the race, happy to finally cross the finish line.

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