They know my name

It was a spur of the moment thing, really. I hadn’t really trained for it but I figured I’d been feeling pretty strong. I could run for two hours; heck, why not do a half marathon?

I went ahead and filled in the online entry, taking a quick look at the map of the 21km route. Since this is an annual event in the town where we live, I’d be running from the local sports centre and right past the bottom of our street. Who knows, I might even get Tim and the kids to get out of bed to cheer me on!

I checked in with the running club via WhatsApp. And yes, a few others were taking part in the shorter, 7km route. Just one other woman would be running the 21km. We’d probably see one another at the start line and that would be it. But I’m used to running solo, so I don’t need to feel supported, necessarily, and I didn’t think too much about this being a community event.

We’d entered the shorter race as a family a couple years prior. It rained the whole way around and as I remember it took us more energy to get the kids to the finish than it took to actually run! That was early in our time in Spain and I don’t remember seeing any faces I recognised lining the route. We thought that by entering a local event we would feel a sense of belonging, but it sort of had the opposite effect. We got home, soaked through and feeling miserable. Another of mommy’s bright ideas fallen flat.

So my expectations for the half marathon were not high. So much the sweeter, then, to receive unexpected gifts of encouragement along the way.

Women from the running club had congregated at the start line. I’m not as regular a participant as I would like in the club - sometimes the hundreds of WhatsApp messages about hairstyles, kids or where to find good deals on running shoes all work to obscure the vital information about where and when they are meeting to run - but they still treat me as one of their own. Which means, I wear club kit and get to be included in the endless round of team photos at the beginning, middle and end of club runs. Somehow, in spite of the muddle I sometimes make of communication, I do feel I belong with these women. I run, they run, we’re all female - it’s as simple as that.

It turned out that another friend had also entered the race and we ran a short part of it together. He lost me on one of the many hills and I found myself looking for him for the remainder of the race. In the end he only came in 1 minute ahead of me, but during the race that minute kept him out of sight. So, after we’d passed the point at which the 7km route turned towards its finish line and the half marathoners toiled on, I mostly ran alone.

Yet, all along the route, non-particpating members of the Corredoras de Alhaurin were cheering and supporting the runners. And here’s the thing: they knew my name! They called out, yelling for those they recognised as one of them. And, somewhat to my surprise, that included me! Those standing close to the finish held out a hand and ran a few metres with me. All of them cheered their strength and support.

It was a special moment for me. Not because the race itself was spectacular, or because I am some sort of champion. But because I felt as though I belonged, that this is my home. I am known by name, included and recognised as part of the group.

During our 4½ years in Spain, I have not always felt this sense of belonging. Often, I have felt confused and shut out, missing vital cues that might explain why all the shops are closed on a particular day, or why all the other kids have gone to school in some costume or another. It takes time to learn enough of a language to feel competent in following directions, or asking for some help or assistance. It is not easy to feel the one who is perpetually a step behind everyone else, finally figuring out how to become a member of the local swimming pool, or turning up for appointments on the wrong date. 

I am sure those humbling moments are not completely behind me. But in the meantime, I will revel in the sense of belonging I had, to run as a local in a local event. 

Believe me, it was sweet.