In the past few weeks 3 races happened, and two finishes almost didn't.
First, I had the opportunity to do an evening run at the end of June in Harrisburg, PA. It was a very hot and steamy night, but it was a race that was sponsored by my team's home store, so running was a no-brainer. A fellow NB Harrisburg team member ran as well, so it was nice to catch up. A simple 5k across a bridge, down a steep slope, along a river path, back up and over the bridge. I can't say it was an easy win, but a win non the less. I ran just over 20 minutes for the 5k, which was so-so- and certainly not a PR, but I was starting to feel like I was coming back after last year's injuries and marathon focused training.
Next, we headed to Rehoboth beach for our family vacation, which involved lots of take out and French fries. I had every intention of running a bunch of races, but opted for only 1 on the 4th of July. Again, very hot, humid, and steamy conditions and I felt good when we showed up at registration, but everything started to fall apart from the get-go. Long lines for limited restrooms meant that I didn't get my customary 3 trips before the race, which is never good- especially after you've birthed children. About a mile into the race, I knew the wheels were going to fall off, and it was a miracle that I finished with just some dry heaves. Stomach issues are never a good thing, especially when trying to run all out in very hot and humid weather.
The Saturday after was my least favorite race EVER in my hometown, which I try to make excuses to avoid at all costs, but this year the charity was an organization that my mother has helped to spearhead, so I ran as a favor to her. As I showed up to the 5 miler in my normal team gear, I was greeted by some of the people involved in the charity and asked to wear a cotton t-shirt that featured the logo. Cotton= terrible idea. Within the first few hundred yards my rolled up sleeves were falling down and I spend who knows how much energy re-rolling the too long sleeves back up. The temperature and humidity seemed to swell to exponentially high proportions and I started dying. And not just figuratively dying, like legs exhausted, heaving, tunnel vision dying. I started throwing water at aid stations on myself and running through the neighbor's hoses that they were spraying out in the street. Stupid. Very Stupid. My mile 3, my shirt was soaked and weighted at least 5 extra pounds. At this point, I gave up. A race turned into just getting to the finish. With a mile to go, I got passed by a 12 year old girl. Literally, 12. I wish I was lying, but I am not. I finally finished around 36 minutes, which I have not finished a 5 miler in that slow of a time in years. I did throw a pout-fit for a bit, but then I reminded myself that this race was not for me. It was a favor to my parent to show support for a charity that she finds so important. So, I sucked it up, changed clothes, drank 4 bottles of water, and put on a happy face. The 12 year old girl eventually found me, and actually thanked me for the encouragement our on the course when she passed me. The weird thing, she called me by name. I asked her how she knew me, and she said that her mom was a high school runner when I was HS running, and she knows that I am really fast and run marathons and told her to come over. It was so sweet and lovely, I have to admit, it kicked the old ego back up a little. We hugged, and stood together and chatted for a bit about her upcoming junior high running season. It was pretty special.
So, in the end, 1 outta 3 isn't bad. And sometimes a little running love from a sweet kid can go a long way.
