"Because I don't want to die trying to cross the interstate," I told him. I was thinking like a driver, not a runner, and I couldn't picture a way to cross the highway safely. Then I started thinking like a runner and remembered a pedestrian bridge that crosses the highway. Maybe running home could work after all...
Aerial view of the Hampton/I-64 interchange. Who wouldn't want to run through this completely-void-of-sidewalks area during rush hour? |
Did I mention that I'm not an afternoon runner? That it was 77* when I left? That I've never run more than 5 miles on a weekday? Go big or go home. Or in this case, go big to get home.
I planned to leave at 4:00, and I expected to get home around 5:15, allowing time for stop lights, traffic, and water breaks. At 3:56, my co-worker pointed out the radar, which showed an enormous storm system in Chesterfield ~ 15 miles away. Knowing that she's a weather expert, I asked if she thought I had time to make it home before the storm unleashed. "Run fast," she told me. "It's going to hit around 5:00."
I scrambled out the door, feeling surprisingly fresh for having worked a full day. I enjoyed running through Forest Park, a popular running route in St. Louis that I had never tried out before. I found the pedestrian-friendly bridge across I-64 and happily ran through Dogtown. The sky was cloudy but not threatening, and though the temperature was hot, I was running joyfully and strong.
Around mile 3.5, my little web of happiness began to unravel. I was approaching the Hill neighborhood and a passing train forced me to stop. A welcome break for my legs, but as I stood watching the train, I felt the temperature drop radically and noticed an ominous sky just to the west. I checked the time: 4:32. I needed to keep moving if I wanted to get home before the storm broke.
Photo courtesy a viewer on kmov.com. I was too concerned with getting home before the lightning started to snap my own pic, but this was my view as I waited for the train to pass. |
Fortunately, it was a short train, and I was soon clambering up the steep incline that gives this famous neighborhood its name. However, as a gentle rain began to fall, a precursor to the real storm, I started to regret my decision to go big. I had come a long way and still had far to go. I was tired, hungry, and just wanted to be finished. Rather than descend into a spiral of self-doubt, I reminded myself to focus on my form ("long, tall, strong," I repeated ad nauseum), and I started counting down the neighborhoods until I'd be home: the Hill, Northampton, Southampton, then finally Princeton Heights.
The rain picked up around mile 6, but I had made it to a stretch of road that Emily and I run almost every time we lace up. I checked the time again: 4:54. "Keep going, Kate. One mile to go." Just half a mile from my house, the sky opened up, and the rain began falling in buckets. "Earn your finish, lady." I ran as fast as my legs would move, feeling strangely free as the sheets of rain drenched me. I dashed up to my house and checked the time as I stopped my GPS: 5:02.
Dripping wet, I stood on my back porch and marveled at what I had done: I broke through my new route phobia, ran at an unusual time of day, and outran the lightning. Badass doesn't even begin to capture the intensity of my emotions as I wrung the water out of my hat and watched the rain pelt our backyard. I set out to do something hard, and I did it, excelling far beyond what I imagined I could do. I'm so grateful that running helps me to push past my imagined boundaries, set and achieve new goals, and become a more balanced wife/mother/friend in the process.