So it's the TIR for you, eh?

When I was first asked to run the Texas Independence Relay (TIR) for a third time, I said I would drive one of the vans and cart people around to their hand offs. I like driving big vans. I've always had a secret desire to drive a bus. The second time I was asked, I said I would drive the van and be an alternate. That way, no pressure. I could still train at a leisurely pace; no biggie. The third time I was asked, I said give me December to get motivated and check back with me. Something inside of me was starting to turn, but it wasn't yesterday's leftovers. It was that competitive dwarf that sits in the back corner of my brain; vigorously hoping up and down until he gets to be heard.

Happy New Year, Shelly, what's it going to be?
OK... I say through instant messaging, I'll be your twelfth man. But, give me the shortest legs of the race.



Why did I say that? Am I gullible and people know this? Or, am I that valuable that I am a wanted member of the team?


As of this past week, I had said yes to the mess. Running in a 203 mile relay race is messy business. It can be fun, sure, but as any veteran on the team will tell you, "it ain't no cakewalk." Immediately, there's that twinge of fear that you've just signed up to walk across hot coals. Why punish myself with self-inflicting physical abuse?

Well, to that I say, why do anything at all?

Every time I run "that race" I friggin' learn something about myself that was unexpected. And I achieve... stuff. You know, personal goals and whatnot. Growth is better than a stalemate life. Though it seems I do I have a lot of physical growing pains.


My First TIR: I was empowered and achieved a running goal that I had never achieved before. DONE. And I learned that I have to constantly think "stand up straight" when I run or else I won't, which had given me the Mr. Burns Effect by the end of it.
Second year: I beat the goal I had last year, time-wise and distance-wise, even with a floundering motivation. It was something out of a made-for-TV movie when I powered through my very painful IT Band injury and ran all my legs. But what I learned was, you gottta stretch like a mo fo or else you're legs will get jacked!
This year, my reasoning behind my submission has been simplified: Get back into running shape and see if you have potential to touch that ultimate running peak, "The Marathon." I've got a few things going on in my life that stack the odds against me, but I'm choosing to ignore them for the moment. I realize now that last year, when I injured my IT Band, which turned me into a limping mess, I had all but given up on my marathon goal. "Some day, ho-hum," I would say.

"SOON," is what I heard the dwarf say last week.