The amazing race: she came in last and couldn't have been happier. Here's why

My 6-year-old daughter, Helen, and I competed in our first 5k this past weekend. We came in dead last out of 2,000 runners.

About a third of the way into the 3.1-mile course, I gave up on trying to run. Helen just wasn't into it--she wanted to play. The drive that had propelled me to complete four Ironman Triathlons and innumerable marathons before her birth doesn't appear to be part of her emotional makeup. So, for most of the race, we held hands, hopped and sang Disney songs. People in front yards waved and chuckled at the site of this little being skipping along in last place.

In the end, we managed to run the last 100 yards, and when we finally crossed the finish line one hour and 10 minutes later, I hugged Helen, lifting her up and expecting a heartfelt, life-changing comment on the experience.

"Mommy, your face looks purple," she giggled. "Let's go eat." What? I thought. You just finished your first 5k and the only comments you can make are 'Mommy, your face looks purple' and 'Let's go eat'? What about the sense of accomplishment? The achievement? The obtained goal? Then it dawned on me: Of course Helen wasn't changed by the experience; she was only 6. But I was: Despite coming in last, I actually was happy, like nothing I had ever felt.

In my pre-mommy life, placing last would have been humiliating. I wanted to win, and nothing short of that was acceptable. Throughout my 20s and 30s, I was invested in the notion that true happiness was somehow obtained through winning triathlons and having pictureperfect looks: six-pack abs, long blond hair, a really good tan. Yet no matter how great I appeared on the outside, no matter how many races I won, I still felt something was missing. I didn't feel at peace with myself, my body--or my life.

But my perspective slowly started to change after I got married and gave birth to my son, Hank, now 9. Workouts began to diminish in length and my drive for that unattainable perfection began to wane. I became less hard on myself and started looking forward to more gentle moments, like holding Hank--and later Helen--in my arms, taking walks in the park with them and just goofing around.

In truth, I had never experienced what it was like to be loved and accepted unconditionally until I became a mother. My children don't care if I win or keep the house spotless or have a fit and tan body. They love me just as I am.

Now, as a single mom, I realize that my happiness isn't found in the pursuit of perfection or in winning races; it flows from the invisible space between the start and the finish--where hands are held, memories are made and real love for who you are abounds.

Molly Barker is the author of Girls on Track: A Parent's Guide to Inspiring Our Daughters to Achieve a Lifetime of Self-Esteem and Respect (Ballantine Books, 2004) and founder of Girls on the Run International (girlsontherun.org). She lives in Charlotte, N.C.

COPYRIGHT 2005 Weider Publications
COPYRIGHT 2005 Gale Group