Fun Run

This past weekend was my big race - half marathon #3.  I had been feeling anxious about it for weeks.  I already felt undertrained for the hilly course and losing a week to my UTI didn't help.  By the time Saturday night rolled around and we returned home from a neighbor's birthday party, I was almost in downright dread.  Then, as David was saying prayers before we put the kids to bed he said something that caused an immediate shift in my outlook.  His prayer was simply, "Lord, help Mommy have a good race tomorrow morning.  Let her have fun and be safe."  
  
Have fun?

Huh.  

Now I know this may blow you Type-B personalities away, but the thought hadn't really occurred to me to have fun.  At least, that was not on the list of my top priorities.  This was a goal to meet.  A thing to check off the list.  A finish line to cross...literally.  Fun would be great if it happened, but it wasn't part of the deal.  

But when he said that, I thought, "Why the heck not?"  I realize I'm not going to be first in any of these big races.  Of course, good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, I won't be last, either.  But what is the point of investing so much time and hard work into what is ultimately a hobby if you don't enjoy it?  And, truthfully, it's been a while since I've enjoyed running.  Instead, it has become a boring habit.  It's something I have moments of elatedness during (usually in the last 1/2 mile) and that I certainly am happy with the results of, but the love of it can be hard to find while alone at 6am in the cold and dark.

But this race, I decided, would be fun.  I would enjoy it regardless of my performance.  As soon as I made up my mind to do that, the pressure lifted and I relaxed....until the next morning, that is.

I popped out of bed at 5am, having gotten a better night's sleep than with my other two halves.  I got ready and quietly kissed David goodbye.  Heading towards the interstate, I was a good four miles from home when I realized I had left my wallet behind.  "No problem," I thought as I turned the car around.  "You left in plenty of time.  Just go get it and we'll try this again."

Back on the road, I searched the radio for some tunes to wake me up and get me in the spirit.  Every single station had djs running their mouths.  Every.  Single. One.  Do you know how hard it is to get in a happy, upbeat mood at 6am when people are talking about legalization of marijuana, gardening tips, and back pain?  Yeah. 

I finally got off my exit and weaved my way through traffic to a parking deck.  I had purchased "Will Call" for packet pick up, so I left my headphones, hydration belt, and GU Gel in the car while I went to go get my bib.  I'd go grab my packet, come back and drop off it and the t-shirt, pick up my things, and be ready to go.  No sweat.  

Alas, there was actually a lot of sweat involved.  It would've worked perfectly, except that I was totally unprepared for the distance I had to walk to get to will-call, especially against the flow of thousands of people heading in the opposite direction.  Still a block away and without any place to cut over a street, I glanced at my watch.  6:46.  I still had to get my packet, hike all the way back to the car, and then back to the starting line madness!  There was also the small issue of taking a bathroom break before starting.  The lines at the port-a-potties were insane!  I knew I wouldn't start right at 7, but I was still in a panic.  Maybe I'd get a really late corral.  Once I broke free from the crowd and spotted the Will Call booth, I began to run.  I grabbed the packet (Corral J? UGG! Not far enough back!) and the too-small shirt and sprinted towards the parking deck.  Tears stung in my eyes as the thought of missing the whole thing entered my head.  I've worked too hard for too long! 

Fun?  NO.  I am NOT having fun, Lord.  HELP!

I rounded the corner and saw a line of completely empty port-a-potties.  This is unheard of for a big race.  I ducked in and out quickly and continued my run towards the parking deck.  I made it back to the car then ran towards the start line area, which had already shifted a lot because of all of the corrals that had started.  I was sweating, stressed out, and had already run at least 3/4 mile.  I decided to cut over a street and hope it was somewhat close to where I need to be.  I squinted for the sign and read the corral.  It was J.  I calmed my heart and stretched what muscles I could for a minute.  I talked myself down.  I felt God whisper, "You can do this.  I've got you.  Don't write it all off before you've even started."  I breathed in deep and clicked my watch as my foot hit the start line.  Ready or not.

As I turned on Pandora to start, an upbeat Bee Gees song that reminded me of my Dad filled my ears.  Then I remembered a text from my Mom that had come in but that I didn't read in the rush.  I looked at it and felt her prayers and encouragement.  As the crowd began to thin out just enough for me to have some elbow room, I glanced to my left and saw the J. Mack Robinson College of Business building.  We were on Georgia State campus and right in the thick of my old stomping grounds.  My eyes took in the whole area, new and old.  I thought about all of the times I'd walked along that street on my way to and from class.  I never would've dreamed that nearly nine years later I'd be running a half marathon down the very same roads.  My phone buzzed and I read an encouraging note from my father-in-law.  Later, my mother-in-law sent one and, eventually, once he and the kids were awake, fed, and settled, I got one from David too.  (They didn't come down to this one due to the threat of bad weather, so the poor guy was doing the morning routine alone.  I was lucky he remembered where I was. )  I felt myself ease into my pace and turned on an audiobook.  As the city began to wake up and the darkness dissipated, I couldn't deny it: I was having fun. 

Every mile or so there were crowds cheering us on with bells, clappers, and posters.  Some of my favorites were: "Good job, Random Stranger!", "Worst Parade Ever", "Smile if you've peed a little", "Hill? What hill?!" (to which one runner beside me yelled, "WHAT HILL?  THIS HILL.  THIS HILL RIGHT HERE!"  We all laughed.)  There were the usual "If it was easy, everyone would do it" and "The faster you go, the faster you're through!" and "Pain is weakness leaving the body" etc.  By far my favorite that made me laugh out loud was "If this was easy, it would be called 'Your Mom'".  I know it's incredibly immature, but that one had me laughing for a good 1/4 mile.  It just reminded me so much of our group of friends in high school and college who never missed the opportunity for a great "Your Momma" joke.  

We entered parts of the city I was less familiar with - Little Five Points, Virginia Highlands - and areas I'd never been in at all - Inman Park, The Carter Center.  When we were away from the shelter of buildings, the wind was kind of strong.  It blew the blossoms off of the Bradford Pears and it looked like snow falling down.  It was beautiful.  

I knew mile 9 - 10.5 was the toughest hill-wise and tried to prepare myself for it.  We crossed a tiny bridge that offered a gorgeous view of the city and I tried to make a mental note of where we were so I could come back and show David.  We made it up a tough hill and entered Piedmont Park.  There was a sign and volunteers stationed around telling people where to split for the half marathon vs. the full marathon.  For a minute, I thought about taking the right turn.  I knew I'd have to walk a lot, but there was no doubt in my mind I could do a full 26.2 miles.  It would probably take me well over 5 hours, but I knew I could finish.  Then I questioned whether they would even let me in because I was only registered for the half.  I also knew that it would probably mean not getting a full marathon medal, and quite frankly, that sealed it for me.  There was no way I was going to do my first full marathon and not get a medal for it.  I decided to stick with the plan.  Maybe one day, but not that day.

We ran through a lot of residential areas and neighborhoods with people outside drinking coffee in their pajamas and cheering for us.  We entered Technology Square on Georgia Tech Campus and things became familiar again.  As I ran down Techwood Drive I thought about David and all our memories there.  I saw the stadium and recalled the many games we'd gone to with friends.  It began to rain, but not hard.  I climbed the hill up North Avenue to Tech Parkway and a gigantic inflatable Buzz greeted us with groups of Tech students around giving out oranges and water.  I was in the home stretch and I knew it.  I kicked it up, passed the 12 mile marker, and kicked it up again.  I knew because of all of the hills that I wasn't going to set a PR like I did on the extremely flat Thanksgiving Day half, but I still had a chance to beat my first half's time.  The cheering crowds thickened around me and I pushed harder.  I found one of my go-to songs, cranked it up, and ran until I thought my heart would burst.  

I crossed the finish line and stopped my watch.  2 hours 29 minutes and 2 seconds.  Not my best time (2 hrs 22 min 35 sec) but not my slowest...barely (2 hrs 29 min 20 seconds).  The hills were tough, but they weren't unbeatable.  I'd managed to run every step of them.  The best part?  It was by far the most fun of the three halves I'd done.  The course was a great run down...and up....memory lane, but more than that, my soul was refreshed.  I'd fallen in love with running again.  My mind had been focused right where it should've been:  Enjoying the gifts of health and ability that God gave me and the beauty of my surroundings - human and otherwise.  

I let it sink in that I'd just run 13.1 miles.  Again.  And in the end I'd had a great time and still met my goal.  Who knew? :)

Ecstatic to be finished.

My sweet notes and drawings from my favorite cheerleaders.  The picture on the left is Audrey and I running up a hill (I'd told her I was nervous about the course) and the one on the far right says:  "Get out and do it, Mommy.  You can do it.  Love Audrey, Luke, Daddy."

Done, Baby Girl.