Before you say, “what a blurry, lousy picture to use on your blog”, I already know that. This photo was taken after I crossed the finish line in a race. Yes. A race. I was stunned. I am crying in the picture.  I am also in pain. None of that matters. I finished. I ran The Crim, Flint’s most beloved annual road race.

I know that millions of runners cross finish lines around the world every year. This finish line was not just a rubber thing with a line and a clock on it that I ran over. This was a moment I never, ever imagined I would experience, unless I somehow accidentally wandered across a finish line at a race somewhere because I was lost or something.

I am not an athlete. I really was the kid who could miss the gigantic kickball when it was served up. By miss, I mean miss. Completely. I was even worse in the outfield. I can still smell the rubber from the numerous times the ball hit my face.

Running the bases? That was not even on the radar for me. That was one of those things people did who were able to breathe especially well.  I feel certain that if I had ever been able to kick the ball and had an opportunity to attempt running for a base, that would have been disastrous.

I always knew I was not an athlete. I figured it out when someone told me I was not an athlete. I believed it. It had to be true. I was not good at kickball. Clearly, this whole sports thing just was not for me.  That became my truth. We all have them, don’t we?

If I choose to believe something it becomes the truth, at least it becomes my version of the truth. So, how does a 41-year-old “never ran” find herself intentionally crossing the finish line in a ten-mile road race? I decided to believe that I could.

This whole thing did not come easy. It started with me quitting smoking. I quit smoking, then two weeks later, I did live reports during my station’s coverage of The Crim. As I watched thousands of people line up on the streets of Flint, something hit me: I could do this.

I looked around at these runners, who came in all shapes, sizes and ages. I watched their faces a couple of hours later as they crossed the finish line. I talked to some of them. Many of these ten-mile race finishers were also “not athletes” from way back. They all had something in common; they told themselves they could do it, and they did it.

Yes, I had to train. Yes it was hard. Yes, I was teary eyed as I posted my Facebook status proclaiming that I had just run my first mile “in a row”, for the first time ever in my 41 years. Hey, it was around about the time I did something else I never thought I would do in my life.  I had also gone six months in a row without smoking for the first time since I started at age 14.

In two days, I will do my third Crim. I just had surgery, so I am going to walk it. That is okay. Hey, I might walk it faster than I was able to run it the last two years. Doesn’t matter.  Slower or faster, I still win. Yes, I am honestly talking smack right now and saying I am going to win. Every time I allow the voice that says, “you can do this” to drown out the one that says things like, “you’re not an athlete” or “you can’t quit smoking”, I win. I win.

Truth be told, this is not just about me. I had help. Tune in tomorrow, and I will elaborate. (What a lame attempt at getting you to come back to my blog. Subtle much?)