If you're my personal friend on Facebook, then you've already seen 1,435,367 pics of my kids from the trip and you're probably glad you aren't seeing any today. For the rest of you, I'll be posting all about our tip throughout the week so you'll get to see the million plus photos soon.
For now, let's talk 5k.
So I'm on vacation and I'm thumbing through a book (you know the type, the "these are all the place you have to eat, and all the things you have to do while visiting our beaches" type book) when I stumbled across an advertisement for a 5k. I'm thinking to myself, well it's probably on Saturday when we're leaving. Then I notice the date-- June 19th, a Wednesday. Damn, now I don't have an out. I can run on Wednesday. So I keep reading to find another tidbit of information that will allow me to say, "I CAN'T do this 5k because...." but I come up empty. AND while reading the advertisement I read that I'd be given a t-shirt and a medal. Gosh darn it, now I HAVE to do it.
So I'm mulling it over in my mind for a day and a half without telling a soul about what I've read when I reveal to George casually that there's a 5k on Wednesday. "Should I do it," I said. Insert me with my fingers crossed behind my back, eyes clenched shut, looking up to God so he says no. He says, "Yeah definitely, you should do it." Rude, just rude George.
So I went right then and there and signed up so I wouldn't chicken out. You see, I HATE, HATE, HATE the 5k distance. First, I suck at them and second, I feel so much pressure. You see, I'm not fast and since the 5k is about being fast, that makes me feel a tad insecure. That plus the fact that my legs still hate running had me thinking it wouldn't be a good race.
While I had been mulling, however, I realized that I could do this race and I could do it for ME and only me. I decided that if I did run the race that I'd just do the best I could without any pressure. I wouldn't even wear my Garmin. I also said I wouldn't tell anyone, but I confessed to my friend Tracey because I knew she'd encourage me (and she did).
We woke up on Wednesday morning at 6:30 am. The race started at 7:30 am and was about 3 miles from our house. The weather was overcast, windy and "cold". The temperature was about 62 degrees and as we pulled up to the event it started to rain. So yeah, strike one, it's cold and of course I thought to myself, why do I do these things.
I was really scared before the race. I asked George before we left the house if he'd still be there to cheer me on if I was the last one coming across the finish line. You see I figured if you're out running on vacation then you must be a pretty hard core runner. I mean who does this stuff for fun AND on vacation? So I was convinced my 11:00 mile would have me bringing up the rear of the rear.
|Sexy Runner's Pose|
I learned a LONG time ago to never judge a book by its cover. People you think will be slow will not be and vice versa, but I've been doing this awhile now and my inclination towards REALLY fast or REALLY slow are generally right. I mean seriously, George told me if I didn't beat the guy in the jean shorts and hightop Air Jordans not to come back.
I started to relax a little (ok at least Air Jordan will NOT beat me) and reminded myself again that this race was for ME and only me. First or last, I just wanted to be thankful that I can run, no matter how slowly.
George and I had gone to CrossFit on Monday (this is now Wednesday) and my legs were super sore. Add that to my general leg problem and I didn't have high hopes for this run. I REALLY wish I could understand why running aggravates whatever it is that's going on with my legs so much. With no Garmin, I was off to run just as fast as my legs could carry me.
Running on sand is not easy, I will tell you that. I got into a more solid part of the sand near the shoreline where it was a little easier to run and settled into a nice pace. I definitely started off "fast" and was heavily breathing, but maybe 5 minutes in or so I realized I was going to burn out so I backed off and found a nice pace. I estimate I was running a 10:00 mile and then backed off to 10:30 or so.
Running straight down the beach was hard because you can see the turn around point a long way off, but it takes FOREVER to get there. That was seriously the longest 1.55 miles of my life, but I felt good and even though I knew I wasn't going fast I was still happy. Then I turned around.
Holy shitballs, because I have nothing else to say. The wind. OMG the wind. I was so discouraged from the moment I turned around. I literally felt like I was being blown back and I felt like my feet were barely moving.
I kept hearing this girl's bib behind me flapping furiously in the wind. It was annoying and I just wanted to get away from her, but I couldn't. Remember when I said the 1.55 miles out was the longest of my life? Yeah well, I was wrong. The 1.55 miles back were the longest. I could see the pier, but it was like a figment of my imagination, it just didn't seem to be getting any closer.
As I approached the finish line, I was digging deep to finish strong, but I am certain my legs were barely even moving. The sand was thick and it felt like I was.... well running through sand of course.
I glanced at the clock and saw it said 34:xx (my official finish time was 34:55). Oh my god, I thought, are you effing kidding me? Then I was just mad. I cursed the sand, I cursed my legs and I cursed myself.
Then I saw George standing there smiling and taking pictures and I got my medal.
George was smiling and said, "good job mama." And that made me happy again.
It was hard and I definitely don't love running in sand or that my body won't do what I know it's capable of doing, but my husband was still proud of me. He was still there to cheer me on and smile at me and tell me I did a good job.
I'm not going to lie. I'm not happy with my 5k time, but that's only because I've fallen so far from where I once was, as my body is revolting running. Having said that, I have put things into perspective and really all I needed that day was George loving and supporting me no matter what and knowing I did the best I could, that day. That's all I can keep asking of myself as I figure out my leg problem.
And you know what, maybe Air Jordan would have been happy with a 34:55 and maybe I should be too.