The Most Important Mile of My Life: Taylor Bell
In March 2010, I was blessed with my first child.
Three days after he was born, he began seizing and was diagnosed with a brain bleed and was admitted to PICU. One day later, I developed a massive blood clot from my hip to my ankle and was admitted to another hospital.
We were both told it was a miracle we were both alive.
Thankfully, he recovered fully with no residual damage. I had surgery to remove the clot and was diagnosed with May Thurner Syndrome. I had run my last marathon in 2008 before getting pregnant, and my last half in 2009 when I was 24 weeks pregnant, so I wasn’t sure I’d ever see another finish line. I had permanent damage to my circulation.
I almost gave up. Something inside of me—and my son’s life, as well as mine—drove me to keep running. I slowly chipped away at it. I ran a half-marathon in 2012, and had hop. I promptly signed up for a full that fall, which leads me to my most important mile.
Taylor heads to the finish line of a marathon–and to a celebration of life.
This is the last mile of my marathon in November 2012, the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon. My dad, who was my inspiration to start running, ran back to meet me as I came into the finish. At the same time, my son came running to greet me. This mile reinforced the fact that no matter my time, no matter what the circumstances, my son is proud. I am proud. We are alive and we can run.
Happy 2014, all!
My Most Important Mile: Denise Collins
Denise and her son, Parker, after a 5K in 2011.
My most important mile ran has to be the very first one I ever ran.
I became a runner back in February 2010. I had been battling post-partum-turned-real-
I had zero interest. At the same time, I also had nothing else to lose.
I laced up late one evening in my black Converse. As my feet struck the pavement, something inside of me ignited. Everything that was weighing me down—and I mean everything—came out as my feet smashed the road. I was about 50 pounds overweight from 2 pregnancies, so I was quite a sight. I stopped every few feet to catch my breath, then resume running again.
I remember vividly how alive I felt when I returned home. It was the first glimpse of happiness that I needed. My husband told me to go get fitted for proper shoes and get some “runner clothes.” (Which is still to this day one of my favorite things to shop for.)
At times I’ll look back at how much running changed me over the last 3 years: all for the better. Running makes me happy.
I now have a new appreciation for life…..and fellow runners.
Reflections on 2013 Races
Ready to start the Disney Princess Half Marathon!
For the second year in a row, the mother runners look back on the races they ran in the past 12 months. But this time they added a new beat to the race-reflections show: They interspersed songs that reminded them of their races, including the Ragnar Relay D.C., Disney Princess Half Marathon, and, of course, Dimity’s Ironman, among others competitive events. The gals share never-before-aired race memories, including Sarah recounting her Ragnar crush (find out why she dubbed him, “Charles Manson,” not your run-of-the-mill term of endearment). But before all that zaniness, Hear the gals talk—at length—about frozen fog.
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The Most Important Mile of my Life: Jana Rugg
Jana ran this trail after meeting her birth mother. This path is part of the Millinneum Trail in the Chicago area.
Jana Rugg, mom of two from Tulsa, Okla., was able to process a significant life moment during a long run a couple of years ago.
The most important mile of my life was during an 8 1/2- mile run I took in Wauconda, IL in October 2011. At age 46, I had met my birthmother for the first time just months before. The time had come, and I flew myself, my husband, and our two kids from Tulsa, Okla. to Illinois for the full-on reunion. We all stayed in the home my birth mother, her husband, and their four kids had lived in for many years. I was filled with all kinds of feelings, from happiness about being there and getting to know everyone, to anxiety over how they would feel about me and my brood. My family was getting to know her, my three half-sisters, and her amazing husband for the first time!
We arrived on a Friday night and went out for a nice dinner followed by conversation, some family games, and eventually bedtime. I got up early the next morning and set out for a nice long run. My brand new stepfather, Don, routed out a great course for me to follow: out of their neighborhood and through the cute downtown area, past the school and the soccer fields where my sisters had spent many hours playing as kids, onto the “Millennium Trail” which took me through some neighborhoods, and a big forest preserve.
I only saw a few people on this solo run, and as I took in my surroundings, my mind was full of thoughts about the siblings I had just met, how they grew up here, and what my life might have been like if I had not been adopted and had grown up here with them in this small little town North of Chicago. I passed the schools, the shops, the darling little downtown streets, and just took it all in, knowing at the same time that my husband and kids were back at the house with my newly discovered family and I wondered what and how they were doing.
The weather was crisp, much chillier than it was back in Oklahoma, and this made my run even that much more enjoyable. I think about this run quite often and will always remember it. In it, I allowed my mind to relax and let in all that might have been and all that could be, and I soaked in and savored the beauty of the moment. Today I continue to have a fabulous relationship with my birth mom and her family–it is a relationship that is growing and thriving.
Jana with her birth mother and her birth mother’s husband.
What was (or will be) the most important mile of your life? We want to know.
We’re going to make this an ongoing feature on the website (and potentially include some important miles in our yet-to-be-named third book, out in spring of 2015). Best way to submit is to email us your story with a picture: runmother {at} gmail {dot} com with “Most Important Mile” in the subject line. Please try to keep your mile stories under 300 words. Thank you!
Marathon Goddess Imparts Her Wisdom
Julie Weiss crosses her 52nd (and final!) marathon finish line in Los Angeles
To help Julie reach her goal of raising $1 million for the Pancreatic Action Network, follow this link.
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The Gifts That Running Gives
The only picture of my dad I have displayed in my house. Doesn’t take a shrink to read volumes into that situation.
I was feeling a bit sluggish on Saturday morning. I had 10 solo miles on tap from the Train Like a Mother Half-Marathon: Finish It plan, and although Colorado isn’t Arctic anymore, it’s not exactly toasty at 7 a.m., which is when I had to go. Basketball game, cookie baking, life chores awaited.
“Where are you going to run?” Grant asked me as I was tying my shoes in our bedroom.
“Right here,” I said, laying back on our bed, “I think I’ll just lie here and visualize the run.”
I somehow got my badass out the door, and turned on the Fresh Air interview with Delia Ephron, who was talking about the closeness and complexity of sisterhood. I have two sisters, so I couldn’t resist. As Delia talked about her older sister Nora, who was her writing partner and died last June, she had a handful of insights about family that I shook my head in agreement with.
My parents divorced when I was 11, and I went to a school—and lived in a town—where it felt like nobody else had divorced parents. I’m sure that wasn’t the truth, but that was how I created my reality. And I took out my embarrassment on my dad, who also didn’t fit the suit-every-day, work-long-hours paternal mold that I was positive all my friends had. Although he was quick with praise and a smile, I couldn’t see that. I just saw him as a failure.
As I progressed through my teenage years and twenties, our relationship didn’t improve much. It wasn’t for him lack of trying; although I cringe to write this, the harder he pushed, the more firmly I shut down. “I wouldn’t pick him as a friend, so I’m not going to foster the relationship as a child,” I justfied my snotty behavior to myself. If I were to have categorized our relationship, I would’ve filed it under “chore.”
He died, in his mid-fifties, from a combination of cardiac issues and Lou Gerig’s disease. (Thankfully, his heart took him before most of his muscles shut down.) He was physically withering and flailing around in other parts of his life, and I, at 26 years old, was self-absorbed and intolerant. His death predictably zapped me, but in the years since, I’ve reverted to a closed-door mentality whenever our relationship flashes through my head. Just done with him and done with it.
And then I ran 10 miles on Saturday. The Fresh Air interview put me in a nostalgic state of mind. When it was over, music from the Broadway show Matilda came on. (My daugher Amelia and I just saw it, and she was using my phone before I ran.) My dad loved Broadway shows and their music; I can still see the covers of the cassette tapes from “My Fair Lady” and “42nd” Street on the floor of his Suburban. Within a minute or two of listening to “When I Grow Up,” I was just flooded—and floored—with such love for my dad, I almost had to stop and catch my breath.
Love like I’m pretty sure I never felt for him when he was alive. And love I’m very sure I never expressed to him once my tween world was rocked. Love that poured through me with such alacrity and intensity, I was certain I could rip off a 7:00 mile right then. Love that muted every regret, every I-was-such-a-sh*&-daugher feeling, every bit of anger I had at him for not measuring up to the person I wanted him to be. Love that was so powerful, it felt like a healing balm, letting me know that while he wasn’t thrilled with my perspective, he could at least understand it. Mostly, though, just pure and simple love that I honestly didn’t think I had when it came to my dad.
I occasionally go to church. I’ve sat on a few therapist’s couches. I’ve tried meditation and am off-and-on again with yoga. But nothing has ever come close to how running unfolds the layers of my life and summons raw emotions that I can’t—or don’t—tap into in my day-to-day world. On really great runs, the miles put my life on a slide show. As I zoom in on each film, the colors grow increasingly vibrant, the corresponding clarity is almost tangible, and I feel like I’m almost running in another world.
Every family relationship is complicated, and pondering it solo—and especially pondering it on a run—is about a thousand times easier than when you’re in promixity to the other person in said relationship. It doesn’t take a shrink to tell you that either. If I were celebrating Christmas with my dad in person, I know it wouldn’t feel half as jubilant as I felt on my run; even typing this now that I’m back on earth feels a little corny. But I was jubliant—and teary—as I climbed the last hill home. And so grateful for the gifts that running perpetually gives me.