Runner Up: Jill Josquin

Fat, Fortyish, and Fabulous
By Jill Josquin

If you looked at me, you wouldn’t think I was a runner. You might not even think I’m in very good shape – but I can run a mean ten- to eleven-minute mile. Yes, that’s right—a ten- to eleven-minute mile. My twelve-year-old son informed me that was rather slow, but I was not discouraged because I can run that ten- to eleven-minute mile for just one mile or for 13.1 miles, as I did on May 16th at the inaugural Windermere Marathon and Half Marathon in Spokane.

My journey to run a half marathon began in December 2008. As I was waiting to check in at the Spokane Valley YMCA, I noticed the Windermere Marathon brochure and saw that the YMCA was offering training. Well, thirty years and thirty pounds ago, I was a competitive high school distance runner. I still love running, yet my body can no longer take the pounding of a daily training regimen. I decided I should do this training because I hadn’t had a coach since high school and each year I talk about getting in shape to run a half marathon. I signed up! Keats McGonigal of the YMCA organized our training schedules and training groups. We met each Saturday morning and did the other training on our own. The training with others of similar ability inspired me to work hard toward my goal of “running” the entire distance of 13.1 miles.

The week of the race, I came down with a cold, so I only went for two runs. On race day, I was slightly congested, but hey, I had the right shoes, the right gear, and most importantly the right attitude. I was determined that I would move my feet forward in a jogging motion for the entire 13.1 miles. I refused to wear a watch because I know how to pace and I didn’t want the obsessive-compulsive runner I am to take over my race.

The gun went off, and off we went, mile one, mile two. What? Mile marker two again? There was a slight error in the mile markers; mile two was posted both at mile two and at mile three. Yes, that’s right, but I can add and run too. The rest of the race I knew that when I saw a mile marker, I needed to add one. At the second mile two marker, my training partner said, “We went out too fast!” She wore her watch. I told her not to worry, that to be a minute faster per mile on race day for a distance event isn’t a big deal. I hoped I was right. It was a gorgeous day and a beautiful course. While running mile after mile, I took in the sights: blooming trees, wild flowers, the sound of the river rushing by, and geese tending to their newly hatched goslings.

I finished the race in Spokane’s Riverfront Park after running continually for two hours and nineteen minutes—a mean ten- to eleven-minute mile pace. I was thrilled! My twelve-year-old son and my husband met me at the finish line. Even my son was impressed by my speed. While he could surely beat me at one mile, he couldn’t beat me at 13.1. Yes, I am proud of myself; I am fat, fortyish, and fabulous.