Competition

I am pretty sure I was born a competitor. I didn't have to worry about winning the "cutest Snyder" contest, because I was the first born girl and I.Was.Fabulous.

I won at being the biggest baby. I won the two best big brothers. I won the best parents. I eventually won the best little sister. Born winner.

Mom says I was a mover early. Crawling, pulling up, cruising by 4 months. Overachieving from the start.

Then came sports and academics (I was definitely much more competitive in sports!) and I could be fierce. I LOVED COMPETING. Not even just to win, but to be MY best, to be active, to work harder than the other player.

During my childhood I had lots of cheerleaders. Lots of people helping me along the way to being my best. Coaches, teachers, friends, family. By far my biggest cheerleaders were my parents, and more specifically my dad. It was always so nice knowing I had him to talk me up after a bad game, take me down a notch when I needed it, make me work harder if I wasn't doing my best.

After my competitive soccer career ended after college, I began running because it filled the void that not playing soccer anymore left. I ran to lose weight after babies. I ran to be faster. I ran to improve myself. I ran to compete with my sister. I ran to compete with myself. Most recently, I ran to raise money for the Pulmonary Fibrosis Foundation in honor of Dad and his sister.

I was in it to win it, to raise money for a cause so dear to me. I was excited about training, and I put all of my effort into it. All along the way, Dad was there, telling me he was proud of me. It kept me going.

Then he died.

Suddenly,  I was having trouble getting my running going. I was restarting, over and over and over, but never had my heart in it. I signed up for a half marathon, convinced that it would be the push I needed to get my running back on track. I mean, I had to run and train so I could compete, right?

Yeah, so, no. It did nothing for my motivation. I was blocked. My body wanted to run, sort of. My brain wanted nothing to do with it and I could not figure it out. Running used to be what I did as stress relief (as a matter of fact, I am pretty sure it is part of the reason I stayed sane during Dad's long decline). And now, I just COULDN'T DO IT.

It took a talk with Mom to unlock what was happening. In the car after a day with the kids, we were saying our goodbyes and began talking about missing Dad. It was in that moment, it clicked. Like a lightning bolt it hit me...I couldn't compete because my biggest cheerleader is gone. Through all my life, all the "I'm proud of yous" the "I love yous" the "go. do great and wonderful things" are what helped me be who I am. I expected them. Shit, I thrived on them. This made me cry, but it lifted a pressure. I could not believe it hadn't hit me sooner.

After that, I stopped putting so much pressure on myself to do it. I relaxed. I ran if I felt like it. I ran as far as I felt like going. The other times, I just didn't.

I had to realize that losing my biggest cheerleader was not a small thing. He not only cheered me on in sports, but in every single aspect of my life. Career, marriage, parenting...everything. It is him that is missing, and why my competitive spirit seems to have evaporated. I have faith that it will come back, but as my great friend told me back in February when I first noticed that I didn't want to run, I have to "give myself some grace." I would NEVER expect someone to do what I was expecting of myself. I was feeling what I was feeling, and I should listen.

Before I left town for the run, I took Colin to his first travel baseball tournament game. On the hour long drive, I had the pleasure of being that cheerleader for him. I felt pride in the amount of work he has put in for his sport. He asked if I was ready to run. I laughed and said, "Nope, but I am going anyway!" I continued on to say "I have not been wanting to train this summer. I know that Dad was always so proud of my competitiveness at wanting to do well and I am fearful that he is disappointed in my lack of effort this year." Sweet Colin said, "I don't think he is disappointed, Mom. He knows that you haven't wanted to do it because you miss him so much. I think he understands."

Be still my heart. He is right.

I did that half marathon this past weekend. I think I ran more than I walked, but it was definitely not my best. The competitor in me was there enough that I made myself do it. I finished and could almost feel Dad's pride in me for not giving up.

I am lucky to have had him cheer for me all those times of my life that I needed him.

I am lucky now, to have the memories there to remind me just how important it was to my successes, as well as to bring me out of my failures.

I will be the best again. Maybe not the best runner, mind you, but the best me. Just like Daddy always believed I could be.