by Thomas Russell

Created on: April 29, 2009

I saw the finish line about 200 yards away. Honestly, it looked more like a mile. My breathing was labored almost to the point of hyperventilating, and my surgically repaired knee was painfully reminding me that no matter what your mind tells you what you can accomplish, reality can bring you to your knees in a split second-literally. I had to finish if for no other reason than to say I won the battle of doubt.

As I stumbled across the finish line, glancing up at that god-forsaken clock, I realized how far I had let myself go in running circles. I swear I saw a snail pass me in the last few seconds. That's how slow it felt crossing the finish line. No burst of energy. No thrusting of the arms upward, shouting, "Hey, I'm the King of the World!" Just a pitiful crouching of the body, hands perched precariously on my weak knees, while other runners filed passed me exhuberantly. If I wasn't so exhausted and trying to keep my body from tipping over, I wouldn't have had any qualms about sticking a leg out and tripping one of them.

I shook my head in complete disgust when I saw the clock read 35:07 for finishing a 5k. "You've got to be kidding," I mumbled disappointedly to myself in between gasps. Just a few short years ago, I was a running machine, finishing a 5k just over 21 minutes. It's not a world class time, but I was able to hold my head up high and it felt like I was running like the wind.

After I sucked down some much needed water, I soon came to realize that I had forgotten how far I had come since I had a severely torn meniscus repaired five months previous. The mere thought that I could even take one running step on the concrete never entered my mind back then. I just figured my running days were over and I had to seek out new ways to exercise. Yet, the thought of doing Pilates made me cringe. Riding a bike seemed like an option. But the cathartic freedom of laying it down on the pavement for several miles is just so inviting to soul.

When I toed the start line, my intentions were just to walk it; anybody could do that. Not me. Per usual, my competitive juices overflowed and I started to actually run. I hadn't run for two weeks prior to the race because my knee was hurting too much to even attempt to run. But foolishly I sped up the pace to catch up with that pesky snail. The first half mile was relatively easy, but that was only because the throngs of people surrounding me were espousing the same I-have-no-intentions-of-smashing-the-world-record mantra.

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