Potential

Somewhere in those last few days, Mom asked Annika what animal she'd want to come back as. Her simple, poignant desire was to be "a big, beautiful hawk that lives up to its potential." Not surprisingly, each and every hawk sighting since has assumed a deep significance for our family members and many friends, as well.

During the first few years after Annika died, the hole in my heart was so gaping that I couldn't quite believe I'd ever feel genuine happiness again. Of course, eventually -- so slowly I hardly noticed -- the numbing pain began to peel away. It's only been four years, but it took the entirety of that time for my optimistic spirit to resume its place on the front burner. Right around when the optimism returned, I embarked upon something totally out of character. For no apparent reason I was compelled to learn how to run. Yea, you heard me...run, jog, exercise.

Fine, you caught me, there was a reason: I was an unacceptably low on energy, shamefully out-of-shape 35 year old. I simply lacked the energy to get up and go to do the things I wanted to be doing. This fact was brought most painfully to the surface in South Africa when I couldn't make it to the top of Table Mountain. Let us not forget this "hike" involves nearly two hours of climbing 15-inch stairs beneath scorching sun, but the agony of that defeat stayed with me.

Thing is, I'm just like anyone else. Full of New Year's resolutions to get in shape and do things right for a change but generally not seeing through such promises much further than January 2nd. This year, something changed...insert the proverbial mental "click" here. As I'm prone to do, I started things off slow by walking my commute to/from work every day. Shockingly, I stuck with this plan and, by spring, felt compelled to do more than just walk. Clearly, the best plan of action was to work up a sweat alone in my living room, thank you Netflix. Before too long, the opportunity to participate in Santa Barbara's inaugural marathon just happened to present itself. It was July at the time and December seemed a safe five month distance away to go ahead and form a relay team.

Let us just be clear on one thing: I. Am. Not. A. Runner.

In fact, I've long declared that the only time you'd see ME running is if I'm being chased, at which point I'd likely get caught before getting across the street. That's not a joke. I mean, have you ever seen a tall, out-of-shape, skinny chick trying to run? Well, it's funny looking, OK? Besides, it totally hurts the tall, out-of-shape, skinny chick's ankles and knees.

Too late, I paid good money to register for the stupid race and was officially committed (no, not that kind of committed) to do this thing with a friend. Preparations for training included purchasing the whitest possible size 10 sneakers of all time and my first sports bra since at least three presidents ago. Next thing you know, there's Rita trying to run her way around a high school track.

Boy, did it suck!

By the end of the first lap I'd apparently forgotten how to breathe. My heart rate was so high that I couldn't even count the beats of my pulse to calculate actual beats per minute. And, it freakin' hurt...all over. Pretty ego bruising stuff. But, tapping into my optimism and finding the bright side, at least I had a lot of room for improvement!

Alas, by the end of the second week of training I managed to run my left foot into tendinitis bad enough to force two weeks of rest, couldn't even continue my triumphant walks to/from work, dammit!

Being the smart gal that I am, I had sensibly signed myself up for guided training with an experienced runner, Coach Dan, to hold myself accountable on this venture. Brilliant move on my part. Coach Dan honored and supported my goals of simply wanting to be part of a team, to improve my personal health, and to conquer this long term fear of running. Moreover, he made me feel like I was an athlete from day one. And guess what? Athletes get hurt and sometimes have to take time off.

Before I knew it, I was back at the track huffing and puffing my way through practice sessions. I could barely run 1/4 of a mile without having to take a walking break. Keep in mind that my end goal was to run around six miles...that's it, just six simple, easy miles. No matter, I had a good 14 weeks of training to go.

Guess what?

It worked! I stuck with the training at a manageable level, which turned out to be running 2-3 times a week either with the group, a friend or by myself. Pretty soon I was used to being sore everywhere below the waist, all of the time. Week after week, I impressed myself (and the husband) with new found motivation to persevere and suffer through complete and total utter CRAZY that is running.

Time flies when you're running. Well, scratch that. I'm quite certain time in fact slows down when you are actually running but you get my point. Pretty soon, it was December and my awesome team (go SB Tchomies, go!) was prepared: matching t-shirts, support crew boys, pasta dinner, and we're off!

My leg of the relay was 6.4 miles, and my goal was to finish in less than 90 minutes (you do the math, yes, I'm that slow). I was the second runner on our team, taking off just after 8am on the coldest morning we've had so far this season. Cold, yet crisp, bright, clear, and utterly motivating. For the first time ever I managed to keep my pace steady, passing nobody and being passed by everyone (including Santa...for reals). Still, this was my first ever experience being anywhere near a marathon -- let alone in it -- and I caught the fever quickly!

How much fun is this? Strangers all along the course cheer you on and the buzz flowing across all the runners is a surprisingly powerful shared experience to be had. Turns out all those stories of race day adrenaline are true, go figure. Before I know what's even happening, I've run over 35 minutes straight without having taken a walking break...a first by over 15 minutes! I think, at this point, I psyched myself out and worried that I wouldn't be able to finish my portion if I tried to keep running to the end. I let myself walk for only 30 seconds and went back to it, but I could feel that I was losing steam.

When I passed mile marker 11, which put me at 4.2 miles into my leg, my attention was caught by two crows making a raucous off the side of the road. Just on a reflex, I turned to look at the birds flitting around the top of a large tree. That's when I saw it.

A big, beautiful hawk sitting still on the tree.

Momentum kept me from stopping in my tracks. Still, I couldn't help but look back at that hawk at least ten times. Was this really happening right now? Could Annika be here, showing me her support during the craziest thing I've ever tried?

But there I was, running stronger and further than I'd ever imagined possible in this tall, out-of-shape, skinny body. And there was this hawk, offering the reminder that my sister always supported my efforts to live up to my own potential. I struggled a bit to maintain my composure during what was positively an emotional, spiritual highlight of my entire life. Then, I focused on the task at hand and finished my leg -- ten minutes faster than planned -- breathlessly and unabashedly happy.