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by Tracey Nickerson I couldn’t get up off the floor after playing with my two month old baby. I was stiff and tired. It was time to do something. I painfully recall my first physical encounter with my body. I went for my first walk on a sunny, cold, snowy January morning. I returned red faced, tired and breathing heavy after walking a quarter of a mile. I felt different on this first day in 1998. When I stepped out of the shower, I took a long look at myself. I turned to one side. Turned to the other. Faced forward. I was naked and I just stared. My face was still red. I felt down and disappointed. My soul was out of shape as well. All I could see was a mirror full of stretch marks on my belly. Scars from 3 children. Three battles waged with my body, at separate times, in different ways. I walked every day for the next two months. I had, from the start, desired to run, to be a runner. Why? I’m not even sure to this day. It was nothing glamorous. Even when I was a kid, I would watch runners in my suburban neighborhood. I would stare after them, wondering how in the world could they keep moving and enjoy it. It was alluring, mysterious. As the tallest girl in my class, ‘Too Tall Tracey’, was a common label in middle school and highschool. I thought I could shock the general population into thinking that I didn’t like sports. It was assumed that I was a ‘jock’, ‘athletic’, schooled in the wide world of sports, simply because I was tall. Nope. Many a time a coach would ask, “Do you play basketball?” "NO, NO, NO!" I’d proclaim. I wasn’t any good and I knew it. I was uncoordinated and bitter. Years later, my weight fluctuated, but I was sixty pounds overweight, exhausted, defeated. I wanted to be an athlete at 28. It would take some work. It would take some time. Was I ready? I had decided that getting into shape was more than a selfish endeavor. It was for my children, my husband, my family. It was for my future, they’re future, our future. It was six in the morning on a deserted road when I ran my first mile. There was no court, no baskets, no crowds cheering me on. No bleachers to seat friends and family. Yet, my heart was full and the birds and the squirrels witnessed my accomplishment, my miracle. These creatures were my family. I stood motionless, crying. Sweat, was falling in unison, along side my tears. Ironic, how the wet streams coming from my face originated from the same place – my heart. My soul was strong again. With each day, I discover that I am not here on this planet, alone with my weight – and height. I am here to bless the lives of other’s. I can make a difference with my presence, with my positive attitude and especially with my unique stature. These long legs, with running shoes on my feet, will carry me on to further explore the mystical abyss of roads and trails. This anti-basketball player, once, anti-athlete, has found her niche. I am an athlete. I can’t play basketball for beans, but I can run. I can run at my own pace, at my own speed and even up a couple of hills. I can sweat. I can breathe heavy. I can cheer for me. I am my own blessing. I am a gift to myself: stretch marks and all. I ran my first mile and world, watch out. I’m going to run a race someday. And I did.
By Tracey Nickerson
(Tracey completed her first marathon in addition to four 5K's and a 6K:
The Mayors Midnight Sun Marathon, Anchorage Alaska, June 19, 1999)
Have you got a human interest story about a runner you know or a race report to share ? ontherunevents.com is happy to share stories with our readers. Send us your stories, your experiences!
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