what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Prepare yourselves, folks.
I'm about to go all Oprah Winfrey Show on you.

It has been a long 15 months. My pregnancy took every bit of physical and emotional strength I had. The babies birth and the 10 days of bouncing back and forth from hospital to home for John, that took my reserves. Then there was the impossible weeks of having two newborns, of Chris still being in school full-time, of being asked to do so much all by myself. It was supposed to get easier. But it just never did.

Summer was filled with sunshine and smiling photographs, but my days were dark. This new and very unique role I suddenly had was a greater challenge than I expected. I felt alone, and I was consumed by anger and sadness and hopelessness. I was without love and patience and joy. Then Fall came, and I pulled myself out of the darkness, boosted by my ever-heroic husband and my ever-loving Heavenly Father. Today I look at my kids with complete pride, abounding joy, and explosive love. I grieve over those lost months. But as we know, sometimes it takes the darkness to truly see just how bright life is.

Along with the changing leaves and changing life came a running routine. Chris gave me time to go running several times a week, and that was one of the things that helped me heal: time away from the chaos, the beauty of God's creations, and making my body work like it didn't know it could work. One of my goals at the beginning of the year was to run a 5k. I decided to challenge myself just a little bit more, and signed up for a 10k instead.

As my race approached, everything was falling apart at the seams. Chris got busy, and I didn't run for a whole week. The temperatures dropped. The race was moved to an hour earlier to avoid football traffic, making it more complicated to take the kids. But as often the case, things were stitched up. Chris's sister came to town and stayed with the babies so we didn't have to take them. Carly bundled up, and during my race she and daddy went to Panera for a delicious warm breakfast. And my months of running made up for the week I missed.

The night before the race I "carbo loaded" on homemade pizza and a Steak n' Shake milkshake. That counts, right? I iced up my lame knees and tried to get to bed early. Chris was good enough to take the 3 am John feeding, though since he was up all night doing homework, that meant he got a whopping 3 hours of sleep that night.

At 6 am we were up and off. Or we were supposed to be. We didn't actually leave until 6:30, which meant I stretched in the car and was still pinning my number on when the race began. But I was there. And I felt good. And it wasn't raining.

It ended up being a very small, slightly po-dunk event. It was up a dirt road that was muddy from the night's rain. There was a mob of half-marathoners, but only 15 people running the 10k. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful run.

I run to music, and had spent the night before compiling the perfect playlist with the songs in the perfect order. It worked pretty well actually, and [edited] Eminem and Rihanna got me up a particularly long hill at mile 4. 

At mile 5.5, Kelly Clarkson reminded me that "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Thirty-five weeks of miserable pregnancy, though I thought more than once that I wouldn't survive, made me stronger. It made me more grateful for a body that sits on the ground for hours doing puzzles, reading stories, changing diapers, and coaxing smiles. It made me appreciate eating a meal and keeping it down, and turning over in bed without my husband's help. It made me more grateful for a body that can run 1 mile, let alone 6.

Having two newborns didn't kill me either, though Chris and I look back and wonder how on Earth we made it through. Those days and nights are a blur. But those weeks taught me to be the most selfless I've ever been. Waking up 6, 7, 8 times a night will certainly teach you a thing or two about sacrifice. Washing 24 bottles and changing 24 diapers and spending any second where the babies are both asleep giving your firstborn attention, that will teach you to put others first.

And, thank heavens, my dark summer didn't kill me either. It taught me I needed to turn more to my Heavenly Father. It taught me that I'm not supposed to do this motherhood thing by myself. All those days I felt so alone, so isolated . . . I wasn't alone at all, and it would have been so much better if I had let Him in. It taught me to never take for granted what joy feels like, to always soak in every little miraculous thing my children do, and to never feel apathetic toward them again. It taught me that I can walk through darkness, that I can pass through hard times, and come out on the other end having learned hard lessons and survived hard things.

And, it turns out, the 10k didn't kill me either. On the contrary, at the end I blew right past Mr. FiveFingers and ended up being the second female finisher. Now, if you remember that there were only 15 racers to begin with, you'll know that is not especially impressive. But I like the sound of it. 

As I climbed the hill toward the finish line, Kelly's song blared and tears stung my eyes (and made my throat swell! That doesn't help when you're running). This year didn't kill me. It made me afraid to ever get pregnant again (ha!), it left an impressive array of stretch marks, it gave me memories that are hard to swallow, and threw in dark circles under my eyes that might never go away. But it left me stronger.

The finish line came into view and there was Carly in her bright blue coat, cheering for me with her megaphone. I yanked my earphones out and heard "Go, mommy! Go, mommy!" Chris smiled and clapped, and that smile and the sacrifices those hands made are to credit for my success. He has walked every step of this year with me, and he gave me the strength to run every stride of that race. They were a beautiful sight. I finished and Carly put the medal around my neck and said "You won, mommy! You won!"

She was 100% right.

I totally won.