I knew I was going to come last in the charity race.
I thought I was prepared for it.
But I wasn’t.
There is nothing wrong with coming last.
There really isn’t.
Unfortunately someone has to do it.
Each lap I cried.
10 fucking laps.
I cried because people had to pity clap me.
I cried because people had to wait until I was finished so they could pack up & go home.
They didn’t want to hang around waiting for me.
They wanted to do their own thing.
Be with their family.
Not watch some fat girl running.
Eventually I finished.
Everyone packed up & went home.
I cried & cried & cried in the car on the way home.
I cried to my husband.
I cried myself to sleep.
I woke up & felt ok.
Physically I’m fucked.
I got on my phone and I saw them.
All the photos.
My friends all smiling.
My friends in groups with their medals.
Where was I?
I’m not in any of them.
I was still to finish.
I was still going.
I missed out.
But then I realised I had FINISHED, I crossed the line, I pushed myself, I may have come last, I may not be in any of the photos, but I carried on regardless, I did not give up, I did not give in, the more I run, the more i force myself to do better, the fitter, thinner and healthier I will become.
Coming last was a great thing because next year I won’t be in the same position, next year I WILL b in all the photos, not as an out of shape, fat, unhealthy woman, but as a woman who has fought to be there.
I did not give up and now I will push myself to do better.
If you are reading this and feel you are unhealthy or over weight do not give up,keep pushing yourself and you will get there.