With Thanksgiving just around the corner, so comes the local legendary tradition: the Turkey Trot. The community gathers on Thanksgiving morning—some going out for their only run of the year, while others, the moms with their strollers in tow, the “we go for a run on thanksgiving morning” family, or the speedy cross-country boys, who show up in singlets despite the chilly 32-degree weather, get in line. Then there is me, the average runner who is determined to age place and earn that homemade pie this year.
The Turkey Trot will always have a special place in my heart, as it was my very first race. So small town cliche, I know.
Growing up, I was never an athletic person. I envied those who played sports throughout high school. I grew up as the youngest of four children. Like most parents, mine worked hard to provide and there was no time for school sports. I low key admired all the field hockey girls, the basketball team. I even tried track and field shortly, only to find myself without a ride home from practice. That was short lived. Running though? Step outside your front door and run down the street? Hell no. My only pair of sneakers was a pair of Chuck Taylors. Run the mile in gym class? No thanks, I can walk it in 12 minutes.
As the years go on, your find yourself through many different phases of young adulthood. Maybe you chose the college route, the working route, the partying route. I can confirm that I chose a mashed-up mix of all of those routes. Then came the travel phase. A phase I still very much love and now get to incorporate my running into.
I have hiked the 10 miles out to the village of Havasupai, I have made the climb to the top of Half Dome, I have reached mountain tops in Adirondacks, to name a few. Then came 2020 and any travel plans in the making, quickly came to a halt.
The world had shut down; I was out of work for the time being. I worked in a busy, six chair salon. I spent 10-hour days on my feet, most days reaching my 10k step goal just at the salon. Schools and day cares had closed, but those deemed “essential” still had to continue to work. My siblings were left without childcare, and I was the one stepping up to the plate. As much as I enjoyed the time with my family, I also found myself snacking on their leftovers and the pounds started adding on.
I was unhappy with my weight, I was lacking any sort of movement in my daily routine, and I knew I needed to make a change. With gyms closed, I turned the outdoors into my personal gym. I was walking 3 miles a day, getting in my steps any time my watch beeped at me. I focused on improving my eating habits and became more mindful. The pounds started dropping, and I was thrilled with this new version of myself.
When the world reopened, I took to the gym and discovered that I very much looked forward to my daily exercise. I enjoyed strength training, found cardio came naturally to me, and gradually became a person I once thought could never exist.
I wish I could say that I had some profound moment in my life that encouraged me to start running. I did not find myself in a quarter life crisis, I was not going through a breakup or let go from a job. In fact, it is as cliche as the line from Forrest Gump: “I just felt like running.” It wouldn’t even be until about a year later that I decided I would run a marathon; after saying numerous times I had no interest in that. Jumping ahead, I even trained for my first marathon and refused to register until two weeks prior to the event.
It was late October, and I did however decide, that I would sign up for our county’s local Turkey Trot. Upon that decision, I headed down to my closest Fleet Feet store and was fitted for my very first pair of running shoes. Who would have thought those very first pair of shoes would open up an entirely new chapter in my life.
Although I had the fitness part down, road running was an entirely new concept to me. I’m the kind of person who, once I start something, dives in completely to learn every detail and do it right. I taught myself how to run with proper form, studied pacing, heart rate, cadence, nutrition—everything I could to improve. I had 28 days to go from zero to a 10k.
Race day had finally arrived. All the now familiar feelings had shown up. I laugh because in all reality, it was not that serious of a race. To me that day, it was though. The thoughts of “Can I finish this?” “What if I have to walk at the end?” “You better finish, so you don’t have to explain yourself at dinner” all went through my head. 6.2 miles felt like a marathon to me.
I finished with a time of 1:01:52 and to this day I am still damn proud of myself. Anyone who finishes, no matter what distance or what time they finished should be proud of themselves. I crossed the finish line to my family and nieces holding signs: “Run, Molly, Run!”.
A week later, I found myself at the start line of a local 5k. Soon after, I was signing up for every race in my community. It’s funny, because it took me even longer to consider that I was, in fact, a runner.
I never miss a Turkey Trot these days. It has become my way of celebrating my race anniversary. In about 3 weeks, I will be toeing the start line. This year, I will still consider myself the average runner, but I am also in it for the pie. I would love to grab that age place. If I don’t, that’s okay as well. Running will always be a reminder of how I express gratitude. It’s something I am fortunate to be able to do.
The point of this post is to encourage you to get out there. Maybe you think you’re not capable, or you’re too old to start. Maybe, like me, you’ve never considered yourself the athletic type. I promise, taking that first step will change your life. Whether it’s a mile, a 5k, or a marathon, every achievement is worth celebrating. Let’s meet at the start line, because every runner starts somewhere.
