The runners are all told to take their lanes. I carefully place my feet against the starting blocks. My right knee presses into the asphalt, some rocks need to be swept away and leave dents in my skin. I take deep breaths and run through the list of thoughts I need to get me the confidence to make it through to the end. I have a coach standing in the grass, maybe even cheering me on, but there isn't much he can do or say. It's all in me to put my best foot forward the way I know how, the way I prepared.As other runners get situated and there is some confusion over who is in which lane, I have extra time to relax myself. I remember my long endurance runs, those times I ran better than the varsity girls. I think of the sprint work-outs when I kept up with some of the boys. I think of the carbs I ate the night before and all the water I drank throughout the day. I have the best shoes needed for my feet, tied with a double knot. I ran a smart warm-up and couldn't be more ready.
Just me, my mind, and these blocks waiting for the sound of the gun to fire.
***
That feeling,
that moment
is what the last month of pregnancy
is like
while I wait
to give birth.
I eagerly and nervously anticipate the start signal, but I have no control of when that will be. I know I will make it to the end, I just don't know what exactly will happen between the start and finish lines. Even with perfect preparation, the only control I have in the process is in my mind. The ability to relax myself (and of course sprint the last 200 meters, or rather, PUSH LIKE HELL at the very end).
Just me, my baby, and my suitcase waiting for the labor to begin.
