*Whistle blows*
"Everybody to the gate!" screamed my football coach, Coach Benson.
Oh, Kill me now. I thought.
It was the usual late afternoon practice in September. In other parts of the country; leaves are turning, sweaters are getting put on, and being outside feels pretty, well, nice. In the meanwhile, Florida is hard at work being the lava throwing magma inferno I've grown to know and love. Football practice was coming to an end when Coach Benson blew his whistle (as he so loved to do). My teammates and I trotted down to the gate as instructed. At this point, there is just one thing on all of our minds, why? Why do we have to run when we are clearly, already drenched in sweat? We've been running all practice! What's another 5 minutes of sprints really gonna do? I felt as though we were human sacrifices for the sun itself.
See, back in high school, I hated running. To me, running was a cruel form of witchcraft that only crazy people did. I couldn't believe people did it for 'fun'. Fun....? In what world? Forget it, for me, I could barely trust anyone who was in track! I mean come on, the whole damn sport is running for christ's sake! No, thank you.
Last December, I was back home in Kissimmee for Christmas break. While I was away at UCF, I kept hearing from my uncle Donny that he and my other uncles had been running, a lot. So, when I went back home, we went out for a run.
6.3 miles
Was what Strava tacked down on my iphone, as Donny and I were staggering to a stop. Huffing and puffing I asked:
"How many miles are in a marathon?"
"26.1....no 26.2, I think," Donny said, as he was catching his breath.
"Oh, hell no. How much is a half marathon?" I asked, still thanking the big guy upstairs I was alive.
Donny answered, "Well, if a full is 26.2, then a half is... 13.1 I'm pretty sure."
We're not too far off, I thought.
And there it began. I couldn't get the numbers out of my head. 13.1 didn't seem as big as I once thought. I mean we just almost ran 7! Seven, eight, nine, I mean in a weird way, we're basically there, I ignorantly thought.
One day, maybe when I'm older I'll.., and there I stood, stuck in thought.
When I'm older? Why not now? Why wait? I thought about it for a while, and couldn't shake the idea off me. It would be cool to say that I did a half-marathon. Tell my future kids that I did that in one point my life. Shit, after the half, who knows...maybe I can do a full? A week later, I went online and registered. My first 13.1 and it was in two months.
"Everybody to the gate!" screamed my football coach, Coach Benson.
Oh, Kill me now. I thought.
It was the usual late afternoon practice in September. In other parts of the country; leaves are turning, sweaters are getting put on, and being outside feels pretty, well, nice. In the meanwhile, Florida is hard at work being the lava throwing magma inferno I've grown to know and love. Football practice was coming to an end when Coach Benson blew his whistle (as he so loved to do). My teammates and I trotted down to the gate as instructed. At this point, there is just one thing on all of our minds, why? Why do we have to run when we are clearly, already drenched in sweat? We've been running all practice! What's another 5 minutes of sprints really gonna do? I felt as though we were human sacrifices for the sun itself.
See, back in high school, I hated running. To me, running was a cruel form of witchcraft that only crazy people did. I couldn't believe people did it for 'fun'. Fun....? In what world? Forget it, for me, I could barely trust anyone who was in track! I mean come on, the whole damn sport is running for christ's sake! No, thank you.
Last December, I was back home in Kissimmee for Christmas break. While I was away at UCF, I kept hearing from my uncle Donny that he and my other uncles had been running, a lot. So, when I went back home, we went out for a run.
6.3 miles
Was what Strava tacked down on my iphone, as Donny and I were staggering to a stop. Huffing and puffing I asked:
"How many miles are in a marathon?"
"26.1....no 26.2, I think," Donny said, as he was catching his breath.
"Oh, hell no. How much is a half marathon?" I asked, still thanking the big guy upstairs I was alive.
Donny answered, "Well, if a full is 26.2, then a half is... 13.1 I'm pretty sure."
We're not too far off, I thought.
And there it began. I couldn't get the numbers out of my head. 13.1 didn't seem as big as I once thought. I mean we just almost ran 7! Seven, eight, nine, I mean in a weird way, we're basically there, I ignorantly thought.
One day, maybe when I'm older I'll.., and there I stood, stuck in thought.
When I'm older? Why not now? Why wait? I thought about it for a while, and couldn't shake the idea off me. It would be cool to say that I did a half-marathon. Tell my future kids that I did that in one point my life. Shit, after the half, who knows...maybe I can do a full? A week later, I went online and registered. My first 13.1 and it was in two months.
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If there was an incentive to run, it was money. I wanted to get my money's worth. Although, the race I signed up for was fairly cheap, it was way more than my high school self would ever pay to run. On second thought, that Gabe would never pay to run, ever, in any world. That Gabe, would probably punch this Gabe in the face.
But I digress.
I looked up a training guide online, telling me when I should run, what days, etc. Especially after my mom
But I digress.
I looked up a training guide online, telling me when I should run, what days, etc. Especially after my mom
bought me some new running shoes, that was it. It was up to me to train. And I did, everyday. Well...maybe five times a week but hey, it felt like everyday. Some days were better than others but I was doing it. I had a goal and I was working towards it. With every week passing, a new goal met. 8 miles one week, 9 the next. I couldn't believe what I was doing.
February 7th came and I was at the starting line, 7am sharp. 48 degrees that Saturday morning, which in Florida was an all out ice age. Cold and nervous, I began pacing back and fourth at the starting line. Then and there, I met a woman from Texas, named Tina. Tina was in Orlando for a work conference and she thought she might as well do a race while she's here. Ah, why not right?
While stretching her hamstrings, she asked, "Is this your first half?"
"Yes, a bit nervous," I said, hoping she would give me a potion to make me run faster.
"Well why is that?" Tina asked.
"It.... it looks like there are a lot of great runners out here. More experienced than me," I said.
With her Texas accent in full stride, she looked in my eyes, and said, "Hunny, don't you worry about them now, you hear? As long you run the best race you can, you'll always win sweetie."
"Thanks," I told her, as the man on the megaphone loudly told everyone to get ready for the race to begin.
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I ended up finishing first in my age group and 30th overall that day. After the race, I was looking for Tina but couldn't find her in the crowd of people. I never got to thank her for what she said to me. But the words she said could not have been any truer. Running isn't about the person next to you. It's about the person who puts on the shoes. The person doing their endless amounts of laundry so they can have some shorts to run in the following day. Running is about you.
Setting great feats, pushing your body to the limit, doing things you once deemed impossible. It's something I can share with my uncles and friends, old and new. I meet new people, go new places, and it's actually good for my health. I'm speaking as if I've fallen in love. And I may have but I think running is just a piece of it.
I believe that all runners run for a reason. Health is as expected, a top one, but when we get past a certain mileage, it goes beyond physical benefits. I run because when I'm out there, I'm free. When I'm listening to my music, on my eighth mile, I'm thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. There isn't a thing in the world that can stop me. Every time I put on my shoes, I'm not the person I used to be, I'm better. I am running "the best race I can" every single day and isn't that what life is?
Winning our own race.
There will always be someone who's running faster or longer, but forget them. Don't worry about them. Stop basing your success off others. Stay at your pace and work towards something worth running for.
February 7th came and I was at the starting line, 7am sharp. 48 degrees that Saturday morning, which in Florida was an all out ice age. Cold and nervous, I began pacing back and fourth at the starting line. Then and there, I met a woman from Texas, named Tina. Tina was in Orlando for a work conference and she thought she might as well do a race while she's here. Ah, why not right?
While stretching her hamstrings, she asked, "Is this your first half?"
"Yes, a bit nervous," I said, hoping she would give me a potion to make me run faster.
"Well why is that?" Tina asked.
"It.... it looks like there are a lot of great runners out here. More experienced than me," I said.
With her Texas accent in full stride, she looked in my eyes, and said, "Hunny, don't you worry about them now, you hear? As long you run the best race you can, you'll always win sweetie."
"Thanks," I told her, as the man on the megaphone loudly told everyone to get ready for the race to begin.
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I ended up finishing first in my age group and 30th overall that day. After the race, I was looking for Tina but couldn't find her in the crowd of people. I never got to thank her for what she said to me. But the words she said could not have been any truer. Running isn't about the person next to you. It's about the person who puts on the shoes. The person doing their endless amounts of laundry so they can have some shorts to run in the following day. Running is about you.
Setting great feats, pushing your body to the limit, doing things you once deemed impossible. It's something I can share with my uncles and friends, old and new. I meet new people, go new places, and it's actually good for my health. I'm speaking as if I've fallen in love. And I may have but I think running is just a piece of it.
I believe that all runners run for a reason. Health is as expected, a top one, but when we get past a certain mileage, it goes beyond physical benefits. I run because when I'm out there, I'm free. When I'm listening to my music, on my eighth mile, I'm thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. There isn't a thing in the world that can stop me. Every time I put on my shoes, I'm not the person I used to be, I'm better. I am running "the best race I can" every single day and isn't that what life is?
Winning our own race.
There will always be someone who's running faster or longer, but forget them. Don't worry about them. Stop basing your success off others. Stay at your pace and work towards something worth running for.