September 8, 2009
All the research shows that when you start talking trauma, well stuff pours out. What research you ask - look it up!
So, back to me and my half-marathon!
The beginning of the half marathon was mostly downhill, but I was running with a partner who claimed her knee hurt when she ran down hill – yes, the same partner who ditched me on the uphill when my whole body hurt, but I digress. So we took it easy, weaving around all the walkers who thought is was a good idea to start at the front of the pack and block the way for the rest of us who were actually going to jog the course.
Which brings me to the course … Eight thousand four hundred people running on a course no more than thirty feet wide. So, say each person takes up four feet, divide that into 30 and only seven people could fit – imagine how long of a stretch there were of runners, and imagine trying to fit through the one and a half feet of space left for passing. Oh, and did I mention all the walkers who thought it would be a good idea to start at the front of the pack so the rest of us could use them like an obstacle course. I actually improved my side to side agility and running in people’s yard ability. I don’t think it improved my time. But I digress.
What really interested me was all the people who passed me in those first few miles – yes, I was paying attention. Flame-outfit woman with the dreadlocks, woman who looked seventy years old wearing her teenage granddaughter’s outfit, all those runners who had fanny packs of energy drinks and pouches strapped around them just tempting me to try one out, and young happy couple who just got back from Africa and explained loudly in mile two that they had NOT been training – which became all too apparent in mile nine when I passed them – HA! I also passed flame outfit woman in mile ten. And lots of others who were now just wearing a belt with lots of empty pouches, which makes me happy that I ran the turtle race, not hair-raising, I mean hare race.
Still, I was left in the end … and probably passed by a bunch of people who saw me weaving in and out and around slower runners and thought, wow – she’s wasting a lot of energy … I wonder if she realizes that everyone gets a medal.
So, now that the flood gates are open I’m contmeplating – why do I pay such close attention to who’s in front of me and who’s behind me and who am I gaining on and who’s gaining on me – it’s not like I could run any faster – or could I?
My husband seems to think so. He has taken over my training. Which means when the half-marathon comes up in conversation, he diverts his gaze and shakes his head, ashamed of my performance to which I exclaim “She’s 15 years younger!” Then he asks ever so non-chalantly if I’m running today. Of course, I tell him yes, get on my running clothes and shoes, leave the yard and find a nice field to lay down in for forty-five minutes and think of reasons why other people are in better shape than I. They don’t have lives. They don’t have jobs. They don’t know how to relax, which apparently I’m getting quite good at. The alarm on my watch goes off. I brush myself off and head home.
I get home, and he is proud of me and I wonder who will pass me in January.
This week I will remember that everyone gets a medal at the end.
