When I was 8 years old, I was my daddy's little “tomboy.” I followed him everywhere, watched his every move and wanted to do everything he did, which included running.

After going on a few runs together, he realized I had a natural talent and we decided to run a 5K race together. People were so surprised to see this little girl pass other runners and still have enough in her to sprint through the finish line. Even the high school track coach watched me once and said he would be keeping an eye on me.

I was just glad to be spending all this time with my dad.

We ran a few races together and were training for another when less than a week before the race, he was killed in an automobile accident.

I was then faced with a huge emotional decision, could I run it without him by my side? The loss was so huge and so close, how could I do it? My uncle offered to run with me along with a close friend from my dad's work.

It took everything I had, but I finished the race that day. The emotions poured over me and through tears I asked my mom, “Do you think Daddy is proud of me?"

After that day, I only ran a couple more races, but I had lost the love of running. When I was in junior high I tried running cross country, and then short distance in track during my junior year of high school, but was not very successful in either.

I just didn't have the heart for it.

Well, fast forward several years and I am now 36 years old, married with four kids of my own, work part time, and am out of shape.

My oldest daughter, a sophomore in high school, fell in love herself with running. She pushed through injury and illness and ran cross country and is on the track team this year. Countless times, she has tried to get me to run with her. I finally gave in several months back. I huffed and puffed my way through a couple of runs and then spent days limping around trying to recover.

I quickly gave up.

My problem now is that we have a family trip to Maui this summer and there is no way I am going out in public in a bathing suit! The calendar pages were turning and I didn't know where to start. I was watching TV late one night and a fitness infomercial came on (Shawn T.'s “Insanity” through Beachbody.com).

It looked brutal, but it gave me a glimmer of hope that maybe I could see some real results in “60 days,” so I got online and purchased it. Not being a morning person, I dragged myself out of bed way earlier then I wanted to get up and suffered through the first week, exhausted and sore.



In week two, my husband decided to join me. By week three, I started seeing results, a shrinking waistline and more energy. Weeks four and five, I pushed through a cold and sore ankles. (My advice to all, do not use those old shoes that you find in the back of your closet! Invest in a pair of good shoes appropriate for the exercise you are doing!)

I made it through month one and the recovery week and was now bracing myself for month two, when the workouts would be more intense and longer. It felt like week one all over again. I was sore and tired, but encouraged by the continued results I was seeing.

The school district where I work is focusing on fitness through the end of the school year. We were given pedometers to track our steps each week and have a bulletin board in the staff room with fitness info like local walks/runs.

Several of the staff members, including myself, signed up to do the 5K walk in the Daffodil Run on April 11. My daughter wanted to do the race, but she was in Alaska with her track team from Northern California for an invitational meet.

The morning of the Daffodil Run came and I was feeling pretty good. I was signed in, had my T-shirt and was people watching. Women walked by with their racing number and I thought, "Wow, if they can do it, I can do it!"

So, I switched out my walking tag for a 5K racing number and headed for the starting line. All I could think was "what in the world am I doing?!" The race began and it all started coming back to me, the rhythm of my breathing, the even strides of my legs, and the sound of my feet on the blacktop.

I was there, doing it.

Sure I had to walk a few times, but I could see the finish line. The closer I got, the more emotions started coming over me. I took the last ounce of energy I had, picked up my pace and sprinted through the finish line, alone.

No one was there to congratulate me or tell me what a great job I had done. I did get a few looks from strangers, as I stood there with tears running down my cheeks. I had done it! I finished that race not only for myself, but for my dad.

I decided to stop by my mom's house on my way home to share my accomplishment. As she came to greet me, she saw how upset I was and thought something had happened to someone. All I could do was open my jacket to show her my racing number and say "I did it, I ran the 5K."

We hugged and cried and shared lots of memories. I drove home and told my family about my morning through even more tears. They hugged me and told me they were proud of me, but I don't think they completely understood what it took to even start the race that day.

I retreated to my bedroom and pulled out an old photo album. There, inside, was that little girl in pigtails from so many years ago, in her mommy's arms after finishing that race, asking "Do you think Daddy is proud of me?"

I placed my racing number and T-shirt next to the photograph and took a picture.

This day was a new beginning for me. There's only one week left of my workout series, but that's not the end for me. I went running today (for fun), and will continue doing races.

I also bought running shoes for my other three kids today, so maybe I won't have to race alone again.

But now that I think about it, I never was alone!

Jen Thomas is a Grass Valley resident.