The Letter

So, in order for me to talk about yesterday’s long run of 7 miles, you’re going to have to first get a glimpse into my deep-rooted insecurities.  How deep?  Like, all the way back to the 80s, dude! 😉

The year was 1986, and I was nearing the end of my freshman year of high school.  I was one of those strange kids who liked school, loved studying, and oh, by the way, was actually pretty darn good at it! I especially excelled at taking tests.  One thing I didn’t do, however, was play a school-sponsored sport. Granted, I rode horses and showed them competitively, but I lived in a suburb of Detroit where there wasn’t a horse for miles and miles, so horse-riding was on my own time.  I could’ve played a sport if I had wanted to, but after a brief (unpleasant) foray into rec-league soccer during junior high, I was very, very happy when my parents didn’t encourage me to go out for any school-sponsored sport.  Honestly, I didn’t even like showing horses…I enjoyed riding, but not the shows.  It was very demanding and high-pressure, and, well, it was a lot of work!  And, if I’m being totally honest here, I was a pretty lazy kid. 😛

But, back to June 1986.  There was a big assembly called during school hours, which they called the “Honors” assembly.  I had no idea what it was, but as I sat there and watched, I very quickly came to realize that the assembly was to showcase the “brightest and best” of that year’s graduating class.  They gave out awards, announced scholarships, and just in general highlighted the “academically-gifted” kids.  Then, at the end, they made a big production out of calling up ten seniors, one at a time, announcing their final GPA, and putting a medal around their necks.  They were “the Top Ten.”

I was fascinated by the whole ordeal.  Throughout my freshman year, I’d sat through football and basketball assemblies, where the players on those teams were recognized and celebrated.  I’d watched as the kids who played sports got to wear jerseys to school, got to leave early or skip school for games, and just in general received (what I perceived as) special treatment.  But that day, at the honors assembly, was the first I’d ever seen “the smart kids” get accolades.  And they were some pretty impressive accolades, in my view.  But then, when I saw the “grand finale,” as it were, of the Top Ten being recognized, I sat and watched from my spot in the bleachers and I very clearly remember thinking, “I’m going to be one of those kids.”

For the next three years, that was my focus—to graduate in the top ten of my high school class (for reference, we had around 300 or 320 students…not huge, but not small, either).  It was a goal I knew I could actually accomplish, if I worked hard.  So I did. I studied, and studied, and studied some more.  I aced tests, survived an unpleasant plagiarism experience in tenth grade, and somehow managed to turn a D in typing into a B+ by the end of the same year.  I may not have played a sport in high school, but I worked my rear-end off in the “sport” that mattered to me—academics.

I started my senior year with the knowledge that I was close to the end, ready to buckle down and continue to work hard—no senior-itis for this girl! Because senior pictures are fun, here’s what I looked like in September 1988, at the ripe age of 16 (I have an October birthday).

 

 

Just looking at that picture makes me giggle. Acid wash ruled in 1988, man. 😉

My senior year was actually really great.  I not only survived calculus, government, and drama class, I also had my first real boyfriend (who dumped me after graduation, loser!).  I had entered high school as a fairly shy girl (moved around a lot as a kid), but I began to really come out of my shell that year.  I took a huge chance and auditioned to be the master of ceremonies for our school’s “male beauty pageant.” I was so nervous—I’d never done anything like that before.  I kept to myself in high school, and only had a few close friends.  But I pulled it together for the audition and did my “five-minute ad-lib” as required, and to my astonishment, I got the job!  The only picture I have of myself from the event, sadly, is a tiny one printed in the back of my yearbook.

 

 

Ha! The fact that it’s black and white makes it look really old, like from the 50s. I’m not that old, I swear. 😉  I’m so glad I took that chance to audition, because I loved every minute of being onstage, and it was in taking on that job that I first learned that I have a love of standing up in front of people and talking. (I guess I was That Loud Redhead even when I wasn’t a redhead. 😉 )

So all that is well and good, and it’s fun for me to reminisce, but I know you’re waiting for me to answer the real question:  did I make it to the Top Ten?  Well, here’s your answer:

 

 

I’m proud to say that I graduated sixth in my class, and I did indeed get to stand up in front of the entire school and have a special medal placed around my neck as my GPA was announced.  Here’s a close-up of me with it (why I chose to cover it with my hand, I have no idea!).

 

 

But guess what…in addition to the medal, I got a few other things for all my hard work.  The most notable—a full scholarship to college!  😀  Yeah, my parents were pretty geeked (pun intended, lol) about that. One thing I was pretty geeked about was this:

 

 

That’s right—for those who don’t know, they give out varsity letters for academics.  I wore that letter proudly on my varsity jacket in my senior year.  I felt like I earned it!

As I’ve grown older, I’ve had lots of conversations about that letter…there are some people who will tell you that an “honor” letter isn’t a real letter.  My husband (former high school football captain) is the first person to tell me that I didn’t really “deserve” that letter.  I’ve argued with him about it round and round, but while I steadfastly maintain my stance to him and anyone else who argues with me about it that I did deserve it, I can’t lie…there has always been a tiny part of me that knows my “big letter A” isn’t a “true” varsity letter.  It’s just a letter…the “varsity” part would only come if I had actually been in some kind of “varsity something,” which I was not.

I could have gone out for a sport in high school, but the truth is, I never wanted to.  While I wouldn’t have called myself “fat” back then (well, I did then, but I know now that I wasn’t), I was definitely chubby, and I never had the drive to want to exert myself in a sport.  So I didn’t, and thus—the only letter I have is my “honor” letter, not a varsity letter. I always acted like I didn’t care, but in the back of my mind, I’ll admit I always felt lazy compared to those kids who played real sports.

So, now that you know way too much about my high school career, let’s finally get back to yesterday’s run.  I had seven miles on the schedule, two easy, three at race pace (9:55) and then two easy again.  Unfortunately, by the time my husband got home, it was almost 9am and it was humid.  I drove up to Meijer’s and parked in the lot (I had to grocery shop after running, oh joy), then I set out to do a circuitous 7-mile run around the neighborhoods and down a city-made trail.

The first couple of miles were warm, and I gratefully stopped a few times to take some pictures, since my easy pace can be anywhere from 10:46 to 11:58.  As I passed by the McDonald’s, I realized it was the closest I’d come to a McDonald’s in well over a year! So I had to get a picture. 🙂

 

 

The ducks were quite comfortable in their spot and were not happy that I ran them off the path, lol!

 

 

Right after the ducks, it was time to go to race pace.  I tell you what, it has been a long time since I have struggled so much during a run.  The humidity was just so oppressive. Every step was killing me, and I honestly gave serious thought to just giving up and walking, race pace be damned. That is not normal for me—I can’t remember a time when I ever wanted to quit that badly.

But this is where I finally bring all the elements of this post together.  I was listening to a podcast while running, and just as I was really thinking about giving up, the woman being interviewed said something that made me remember my time in high school.

I don’t even remember what it was that triggered the memory, but suddenly, I remembered that goal I set at the end of my freshman year.  I remembered how hard I worked so I could stand up in front of my whole school and have that medal put around my neck.  That wasn’t a fluke—I busted my ass for that medal.  As I ran along the path, struggling for breath in the humidity, I thought to myself, “The girl who spent three long years working for that goal can sure as hell spend three miles for this one.”

And that’s how I got myself through those three brutal miles…I just kept telling myself that I was not going to give up, just like that teenaged girl I used to be didn’t give up.

When I finished that fifth and final race-pace mile, with three splits of 9:54, 9:51, and 9:52 to show for it, I suddenly remembered my letter…the one that that my husband and many others have said I didn’t deserve.  At that moment, as I thought back over the last 15 months of my life since I began running, I realized I was finally at a point where I felt like had earned my letter.  I’d run a half-marathon just a month earlier for crying out loud!  Maybe it took me 25 years, but damn it, it doesn’t matter—I put forth an athletic effort to match my academic one, and now I’m laying claim to that big A, not just as an “honor” letter, but as a varsity letter!  And you know what? I think the fact that I can still fit into my varsity jacket gives me some right to that claim! 😉

 

 

In fact, the jacket is actually a bit roomy on me, because I’m now almost 30 pounds lighter than I was when I graduated high school, way back in 1989. 😀

 

 

So there you go—a long run completed, some deep-rooted insecurities laid bare, and I get to do it all again next Saturday during my eight-mile run, when I have to run four race-pace miles. 😉

Thank you so much for reading this very long and rather emotionally-charged post.  No matter where you are on your journey, my hope is that maybe it will help you remember why you’re doing what you’re doing, and how far you have come…and could still go!

PS:  I told my husband this whole story last night, and he actually was quite surprised and ashamed of how much he’d hurt my feelings with his “my letter is better than your letter” argument, which we’ve had pretty much since we met 21 years ago.  He started to apologize, but I stopped him and explained that, while it took me a long time to admit it, I do understood and appreciate his point of view.  I then added that it was really okay, because I think the fact that I can now run a half-marathon and he can’t puts us back on an even playing field. 😉