Saturday I continued my race-a-month streak and eeked out a 5k.

It was slow. It was painful. It was not my finest moment.

I came home just as cranky and frustrated as I was when I was running those few, short miles. Just a few days earlier I’d had a great run, same with a few days before that. With all of the events going on this month, I knew I had to knock out this month’s race early. The only races available were all 45-minutes or more away, so I signed up for the one 45-minutes away and the full drive back my frustration sat.

There’s not much technical advice from this post. But there is resilience.

Because that’s what was clear to me as I was trudging along, my feet clomping through those 3 miles on Saturday. Resilience is a muscle that must be exercised.

Throughout those miles, I knew my time was shit. I knew that every time I tried to run a bit more, my muscles were going to spasm again. I knew this was going to be one of the crap ones on my long list of continuous racing. But… I knew that finishing was more important than all of that.

Because I also knew during those miles what I know sitting here on this couch. There’s a lot more ahead I’m going to have to push through, often while pulling much more. There will be races ahead, and hurdles ahead, just as there has been in the past.

The important thing, in my mind, is assuring that what I’m doing is in service to a greater goal. That 5k this weekend was not about that 45 of time. It was about the bigger goal of getting out there each month no matter what. That’s what builds resilience. Continuing to stand up and show up and work toward the big, hairy, audacious goals ahead.

One of my favorite quotes from Cheryl Strayed’s book, “Brave Enough” is the following:

“We don’t reach the mountaintop from the mountaintop. We start at the bottom and climb up. Blood is involved.”

I’ve climbed mountains. I remember the times when I thought I was going to not be able to make it a step further. When I thought my lungs were giving up. When I wanted to cry and say, “close enough.” But that’s not the mountaintop.

So, as long as you have a clear picture of where you’re climbing, you can keep fighting those single steps each day. With the rain, with the wind, even with the cramps.

In those moments, when you finally get to the top… even the crap races have their purpose along your journey. Because resilience is a muscle you have to exercise all the time.

If you were to judge me by my book cover, you might guess any number of things. You might guess about the correct age, you might guess my occupation, you may even guess where I’m from and get a few things right.

My guess is you would never guess that I was a runner based on how I look.

For starters, I’m short and built sturdy. Weight has always been a battle for me and I’ve come to realize that will never go away, it’s just how I was built and I can accept that.

When I started running in the fall of 2010, it was easy to hit accomplishment milestones. Fast races, more weight lost, longer and longer distances, it was all new and a new milestone was around each corner. I was learning how strong I could feel breaking my self-imposed barriers and adding mileage, distance and times.

I’ve never been “traditionally” fast, and I likely never will be. What I’ve always said to that is that I can be fast… for me, and as long as it’s my best, that’s good enough.

I’ve continued my at least one-race-a-month cadence for 43 months now, over 3.5 years. When I set the goal it wasn’t about a good time each month, it was about holding myself to a standard that I wouldn’t stop and get lazy, I would keep going. I’ve said before, some months were faster, some months were slower, but finishing the race was accomplishment enough. It was about making time for the goal and that was good enough.

The past 6-8 months, however, I’ve been battling an inner voice that said maybe that race a month wasn’t good enough, maybe I wasn’t. What was the accomplishment in just getting out of bed when my times slipped slower and slower and my walk breaks stretched longer and longer. If I couldn’t even run a full 5k anymore without walking, could I really call myself a runner? What was the point in just “checking the box”. And I started to feel shame over my times, instead of accomplishment in finishing. I was embarrassed to go to running club social runs because I was so slow, I was embarrassed by my times. I knew I was physically capable of better. I just couldn’t get my legs to realize that as well. Training runs were mentally painful and there were many days I wanted to quit. I was embarrassed to call myself a runner.

After last month’s 8k, that voice was louder than ever. Down nearly 15 lbs from the start of the year, I was torn up mentally with how slow my time was and how often I had to walk during that course depsite my better physical shape. My lungs and legs were determined to slow me down and my brain berated those miles spent walking along the course. No amount of intervals could inject energy into my body and disappointment was plentiful.

This past weekend I turned a corner mentally when I ran the 500 Festival 5k.

When I say I ran it, I mean just that. I ran the entire thing faster than I have run a 5k in years. The whole thing felt different and I was able to capture the control, the spark and the energy I’ve lost lately as fun and pride filled my legs, my lungs and my heart on those 3.1 miles.

I don’t know what my next race will feel like, I realize I can’t control that. I don’t know how my fall races will go, or if I’ll ever make it to my first full marathon like I’d like. But what I found this weekend was the perspective that I’d been lacking. The reason behind getting out of bed one Saturday morning a month to keep this streak alive. It’s about forcing myself to never give up, especially when it seems hopeless and pointless at the time. The bigger picture is more important than any one Saturday, or even multiple Saturdays in a row.

I had planned on walking the mini with a friend of mine and we’d been training to walk it. I wasn’t worried about my time for that, it was about the two of us accomplishing her goal together and I wanted to be there to encourage her along the way, maybe even capture some of that “newness” magic I’d lost over the past year.

The 500 Festival Mini Marathon course is one of a kind, with the amount of people, fanfare, cheering and entertainment along the course. It’s a fun course to run and as a huge Indycar fan, I love that it kicks off the month of May in Indianapolis. When my friend hurt a nerve in her back, she had to drop out of the mini and I had to decide what to do with my entry. It was too late to sell the bib, and I was really tired of the disappointment feeling I had after finishing longer races with poor times that I’d felt the months prior.

I set my sights on the 5k, however, and had a hunch I might be ready for a decent 5k. Decent for me typically being just under 13 minutes, or 12:30 on a good day. (Hey, I said, I’m not fast…) The 5k course is one I know like the back of my hand. When I started running nearly 5 years ago, I ran around White River State Park a few times a week. It’s where I trained for my first mini, and my second, and where I ran some of my first races that were over 3 miles. I remember in 2011, running my first 10k and bursting into tears as I pushed past the finish line thinking how those miles represented the farthest I’d ever run in my life.

This course is as close to home field advantage as it gets for me.

So, I lined up at the start line and remembered the unique differences that larger races like this 5k have. These larger races draw so many first-time runners, walkers and 5k-ers, that the dynamic is just different. Walkers push to the front of the line, which causes some initial bobbing and weaving, and you have to be very aware of your surroundings – more so than in smaller races with more experienced participants.

As we started out the race and enjoyed the gentle downhill of Washington street toward the river, I was very focused on getting through the crowd and enjoying the entertainers and spectators around the edges of the course that it was about 1/4 mile into the race before I realized that I felt good – really good. I had some tightness in my lower back, but my legs felt strong, my lungs felt strong and the weather was perfect. Today, I thought, just might be a good day for me.

No matter what race I’m in, and what intervals I’m running (or walking, as the case may be), I always run the first mile. I knew about where that was on the course, so I settled in and started to repeat a mantra in my head – something I hadn’t done in years of running. “You’re only competing against yourself. You can win this.” Over and over, as others passed me, and I passed others, I kept encouraging myself and mentally prepared myself to turn up the White River Parkway just past the Zoo.

This is a section of the course I remember vividly from years-old training runs and other races as there’s a gentle uphill slope, barely a climb at all, but it used to be a mountain for me as I climbed it and fought for each step. In flat Indiana, that little climb used to be a giant obstacle for me. Yesterday, however, that section might as well have been the straightaway of the IMS it felt like nothing to me. I flowed up that section like nothing happened and keep on moving past the first mile mark.

I still felt good as I gut-checked my pace and realized I was doing pretty good – 11:45 for the first mile. I decided to keep running and see if I could push myself to the 2nd mile mark without walking, or at least the first water stop which was in between miles 1 and 2. As I approached the water stop, I had a clear lane to keep running, so I did. I ran through and grabbed the water as I practiced years ago and kept running as it cleared up my dry throat and I kept moving. I kept running over the bridge that I had remembered giving me trouble so many times before past IUPUI’s apartments to New York Street. I was feeling strong and suddenly my mantra had changed, “If you walk, you have lost this race. If you run this entire thing, you have won.” The race was now about me against myself and to win I just had to keep running.

I finished the race, and checked my time, coming in just under a 12-minute pace, at 11:58 average.  I won that race and beat myself yesterday.

That time probably sounds slower than molasses to most people, but to me, it represented years of work and the chance to regain pride in my running accomplishments again. It wasn’t my 5k all time, but it was better than I’ve run in years, and that was enough yesterday. Yesterday’s part of the journey was enough to remind me that I can still be a runner, and that each step does build up to something better, even when you can’t see the progress made every time.

It also reminded me that my race streak is about streak itself. It’s about giving myself the chance to be great, even as the definition of “great” evolves over time.

Because yesterday, I won my race against myself and the negative voices. And yesterday, that was enough.

What do you think makes a runner a runner? Do you ever challenge yourself on how you are defined?