A good friend is someone who waits to cheer you on when you cross the finish line.
This is what I thought Sunday morning as I finished a 5k race and heard my name being cheered by my friends Peggy and Simona. The three of us recently formed a seriously serious running club which we have seriously named “The Monkeyslayers”. (My apologies to S & P if you did not want this info out J) This name came from a triathlon Simona and I did last summer that is full of women empowerment and fancy inspirational mantras like “I am elegantly excellent.” If you know me and/or Simona and/or Simona’s husband Drew you might guess that feeling elegantly excellent was not remotely motivational but rather kind of annoying. So we (actually I think Drew, who was cheering us on with my mom, is responsible) came up with our own mantra that had to do with monkey slaying – not the cute cuddly kind of monkey, but the hanging-on-your-back-keeping-you-down-kind of monkey. And chanting in your brain, “I am a monkey slayer!!!” was way more hilarious and heart pumping then any other option.
So recently Peggy, Simona and I discovered that we shared an interest in running races and decided it was a good goal to get together and to do so regularly. We agreed that each of us would run at our own pace, but the first two to cross would wait for the last to cross.
The course itself was nice, full of nice people and on a beautiful sunny morning. I faced my first monkey just after mile 1. I had started to feel a little overheated and my anxious mind began its beat. “What if I pass out?”… “What if I’m actually sick and that’s why I’m tired?”… “I should have my name/contact info on my body in case I pass out so someone can find my loved ones” … “Am I dizzy?? I think I’m dizzy
Then I heard from across the grass, ‘WAY TO GO, MONKEYSLAYER!” It was Simona, about a mile ahead of me in the race. Big grin on her face. Now a big grin on my face. Riiiggghhhtttt, I’m a monkeyslayer and this here I’m worried about is nuthin but a monkey in need of some slaying. So I slowed my pace, breathed slowly and deeply and let myself cool down. Monkey slayed.
I thought a lot about both of my parents during the race as it was race to raise money for cancer and there were a lot of people running the race “in memoriam” for their own lost loved ones. My mom also really liked to run races – especially since as she got older she tended to dominate her age group and won many a prize. Not me. I’m slow and not competitive when it comes to running races. I was cured of any running competitiveness when I came in 2nd to last in a race. In my defense it was a snowshoe race over The Great Sand Dunes in Colorado – no ordinary running race, but humbling nonetheless. My sister used to also run a lot races (interested in more, Meg?) My dad didn’t mind races either – yet he tended to be way more social during the race (I’ve made a few friends during races myself) and was always happy when there was beer involved during the post-race festivities. Much like myself…and my fellow monkeyslayers too, I think.
Anyhow, I fought a monkey and finished the race and there were my friends cheering me on and I thought, “Hooray for FRIENDS!” and then I thought, “I’m doing okay.” Take that, monkey.
So my advice to you, dearies, is watch out for monkeys. And cheer your friends on – it makes them feel super good.
