Finish Lines

Today is a writing finish line, the last piece for the Slice of Life Writing Challenge. This is my first full year doing it. I joined last year, but only because of the Pandemic and them opening it up, once we were all at home, wondering what now. I wrote 9 days last year. This makes 31 for this year. 9 was manageable, 31 was hard at times. For me, 9 was like a 5K, the full month, more like a half marathon. Doable, but takes discipline. So, in honor of today, the writing finish line, I offer other memorable finish lines.

 

Every teacher knows the last day of school is a major finish line. By that day, 180 days of instruction and probably double that in planning, prepping, thinking, and worrying about your students that last day of school is a joyous finish line. Unlike a race, where you go home, put your feet up and move on, a teacher does need to go back, clean, file, do paperwork, pack up and more. That can take another day or two, depending upon your pace. Summer is recovery and then a new year and a new race. I have crossed that finish line 20 times as a classroom teacher, 6 times as a literacy coach. Each one feels like finishing an ultramarathon.

 

My favorite finish line was an Olympic distance triathlon. It was my first training with a program, and a friend to push and pull each other. Turns out, we were both pretty competitive and always kept close tabs on one another. Race day, she was faster in the water, but I caught her on the bike. We leapfrogged one another for the 40k, up and down the California coast. A quick shoe change in the transition area and we were off on the 10k run. She was ahead, and again I caught her. The only problem was, I really had to pee. I ran past multiple porty potties and each time debated stopping. But my competitive spirit would just not allow it. I pulled ahead, periodically looking over my shoulder to see how far back she was. Not much. I then, made the executive decision, to just pee. That’s right, while running, pee gushed down my leg. I have no idea if the people cheering us along the sides could see, I really didn’t care. I looked over my shoulder and saw she was gaining on me again as we went down the finish chute. I kicked it up and we crossed the finish line together. I told her what I had done, and she pointed to her wet shoes, leaving behind shoeprints, smiled and said, “Me too.”

 

My other favorite was 7 years ago in Lake Placid. I had dreamed of doing an Ironman and after a failed attempt in Lake Tahoe I had a second chance. I had dreamed and trained for years to hear them say over the loud speaker as I stepped across the finish line, “Christina Huizar, you are an Ironman.” And they did, on that long, rainy, lightening-filled day in July. My aunt even caught it on tape as she watched the live stream of my finish. I was so happy in that moment. Happiness that finally replaced the fear that followed me that whole day, that whole year of training. Fear that the lightening would shut down the swim leg of the race. It did, for a while. Fear that I would get struck by lightning while on my bike. I didn’t. Instead, I counted the distance between the thunder and lightning and pedaled on. Fear that I would crash in the heavy downpour and descents. I didn’t but I saw others that did. Instead, I fixed my eyes on the double yellow lines and willed myself to stay calm. Fear that my body would give out, my gate would become a stagger, food would come up and out my stomach. It didn’t. Instead I timed my food and water and kept with my plan. Alas, the finish line was there. As I could hear the crowds, my fears finally fell away and pride, joy, and pleasure replaced it.

 

I wonder what finish lines await me to cross in the future. Most importantly the finish line of the pandemic. That finish line will be like the big races, where you can hear the finish line, but it is still miles away, you keep your head down, running, repeating whatever mantra is needed to keep your body moving forward, until finally, in the far distance the announcer’s voice becomes clearer and clearer and you can see through salty sweat a banner across the road. That will be the sweetest finish line of all.

4 thoughts on “Finish Lines

  1. You crossed this writing finish line. HURRAY! Kudos to you for making it. It is an accomplishment.

    Feel free to dip-in & dip-out of SOL Tuesdays year-round.

  2. Yes … it is more like a marathon. I love that visual and the image of a finish line for the pandemic. Here’s hoping!

  3. Such great details!! Welcome to the SOL challenge finish line…the rest are out there, too, I’m sure.

  4. My goodness, you certainly know how to challenge yourself and push your limits! The triathlon stories both illustrate your capacity for humor and motivation to achieve. I am duly impressed. So glad you could make it through this writing challenge and experience the satisfaction it brings. Congratulations!

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