Audacity Beckons: Broad Street Run Eve (2012)

On any given race day, it is likely I will show up with gritty butterflies and emotionally raw, bouncing up and down on my toes, ever so slightly, with nervous energy.  At that moment, when the line forms and I stand among first timers and the elite, completely anonymous, it occurs to me that no one knows my name or my personal best, my goal or my history, my injuries or my triumphs, and least of all, my story.  It is then that I think I'm strong and capable.  It is this gathering of brilliant athletes and brave rookies that captivates me and  reminds me that when nothing is expected, anything is possible.  


As Broad Street Run #3 floats just 24 hours out of reach, I'm torn between the goal (77 minutes) with my Garmin at the ready and Micah True's "Run Free" philosophy.  Because the Broad Street Run has long been my recovery run – mentally, physically and emotionally - whatever the corresponding injury may be, it is the very symbol of running free for me.  I've returned to it post-cancer, post-stress fracture and post-crisis.  It is the force my running life gravitates around, from the beginning of a circle to the end, and all over again.  Because the Broad Street Run was my first race, a moment of power and stability in a storm, and the single greatest comeback I've been a part of, I want to crush it. Hard.  And therein lies my fork in the road.  To run fearless or to run fast.


With the start line in sight, freedom in focus and something to prove to myself, I'll remember every January 5AM run, every snowy day out on the path, the two-a-day workouts that followed, and everything in between as I fly down Broad Street looking for familiar faces and signs. I will eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich with my puppy at 5AM. I will kneel at Mass and pray.  I will not join my corral until it moves and dissipates. I will wear my Garmin.  I will not partake in water stations.  I will run through fire hydrants.  I will stride over cups and down medians to avoid crowds. I will lean forward and keep my arms down.  I will push through ankle pain.  I will push through any pain.  I will run a true race for myself and no one else.  And I will not look at my watch at the finish line.  I will look straight ahead, open up my hips and lengthen my stride, smile up as I cross over with #3 behind me, make eye contact with the person handing me water and push the wall down.




 In life, as in running, you don't have to be fast, but you'd better be fearless.