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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I nudged my way through the throng of women and positioned myself at the starting line—an archway of variegated pink balloons. It was mid-October, and a stiff autumn breeze swirled around my body numbing my hands and stiffening my legs and muscles. I bent over; stretched my leg muscles; then re-tied my running shoes. When I stood up, my stomach gurgled and lurched forward in my throat. “This your first race?” asked the brown-haired woman standing next to me. “Yes.” I said and continued staring straight ahead waiting for the starting gun to fire. “I have as many doubts as you,” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “Standing on the starting line, we’re all cowards. But crossing the starting line is an act of courage.” The starting gun fired, and I shot forward. “Remember your race pace,” shouted my husband from the sidelines. Adrenalin coursed through my veins and my heart pounded harder heating my blood and loosening my tight muscles. I lengthened my stride; quickened my pace; and ran adjacent to the brown-haired woman. I ran with no thought of speed, time, or distance—not until the digital clock at the two-mile marker told me I was running two minutes faster than my race pace. “Look!” said the voice inside my head. “Most of mile three is uphill; you can’t continue at this pace.” I dug in. Sweat cascaded down my face; my leg muscles cramped; and I began hallucinating. On the hillside I saw the ghosts of leering faces and laughing eyes of everyone who’d ever told me what I couldn’t do. The voice whispered, “You’re not an athlete; no one will care if you slow down or stop altogether.” I ignored the voice and continued running adjacent to the brown-haired woman. I gritted my teeth and ran with all my might until I crossed the finish line, collapsing on the ground. “Congratulations!” The brown-haired woman pulled me up. “Crossing the finish line is an act of faith.” “Faith? In running a race? What do you mean?” “Faith gave you victory over your pain and that voice inside your head that told you that you couldn’t make it one more step.” With that, Francie Larrieu-Smith—a five-time Olympic runner—walked away leaving me with a new-found love and respect for the tradition of running and a deeper understanding of faith and how it permeated my life without my knowing it. faith--staying power, that extra ingredient to keep on running pain, strife —part of life if you have faith, it’s easy then to see them through
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