“You have a choice. You can throw in the towel or use it to wipe the sweat off your face.” ~Gatorade

When I look back on the time in my life when I began running, I have to laugh at myself. I wouldn’t say I was introduced to running. Rather, running just introduced itself to me. My first feeble attempt at running happened by accident. It was a half-hearted attempt to rush through a one mile walking workout. That first lap around the track almost killed me. I remember collapsing onto the ground, flat on my back, and staring at the bright blue January sky. I could have sworn the earth was spinning as I desperately tried to catch my breath and simultaneously coughed up half a lung. I almost crawled back to my car and prayed that no one actually saw what I considered a total disaster. I was worn out and sore for days, but I couldn’t let myself believe the result of that effort was all I was “capable” of. So, I went back out to the track. For a month, I began running a little every day. I set a goal to be able to run one mile without stopping or keeling over, gasping for breath. I told no one but my husband, who honestly didn’t understand where this new “one mile” goal was coming from. Nine months later, despite many sarcastic remarks and insane looks from some family and friends, I ran my first half-marathon. I crossed that finish line, my first one ever, and it was official: I was a runner.

I still catch sarcasm and crazy comments from my friends, but I just smile when they call me “Forrest Gump.” Sometimes I think the only people who understand my need to run are my husband and my daddy. But then I remember that there are millions of other people who have running fever and sign up for races all across the country during every month of the year. We can’t all be crazy!

In 2007, I adopted my dog Sophie. She quickly became my new and preferred running partner. She lifted me out of a “running rut” and kept me going out to run in the cold. I remember climbing a steep hill in my neighborhood one day with Sophie. She was right by side, matching me step for step, when a neighbor shouted, “Hey! Who’s pulling who up that hill?” I replied with the first thing that came to my mind. “We’re a team!” I shouted back.

I’ll always love to run with Sophie, but now I have a new team to run with. They are 21 boys and girls who make up Morehead’s Cross Country team. They call me “Coach” and sometimes when I hear that name, it still takes a second to remember they’re talking to me. I’m new at this coaching thing, and I never played organized sports, so I don’t have a great mentor to model my coaching philosophy after. I’ll be the first to admit that I am learning as I go, but I know two things for sure: I love running and I love my team.

Working out with the team has forced me to return to the basics of running. I’ve had to lay down the ipod and reconnect with the sound of my feet hitting the ground. Before coaching, I could run without the conversation of others, but I never wanted to run without music. Now, the music that fills my ears is the sound of the team cheering each other on as we run hill repeats. And somehow, everyday, each member of the team returns for more. More running, more pushing our limits, more soreness, more sweat. We haven’t won every meet, but our times keep improving. It’s like we all had to start with that very first lap. We know that the first lap, the first mile, and the first race may not be pretty; but we know we’re capable of more, so together we’re working toward our goals.

Some people think that winning is the most important thing, but for a runner, the most important things are often improving and finishing. Coach Skip Prosser said WIN meant focusing on “What’s Important Now.”