I ran–and survived–my first 5k last weekend.
When my friend, Rebekah, e-mailed on Friday to see if I still wanted to do it (after backing out of attempting to train for a 10k race in July, I had mentioned the possibility of running this 5k), she bribed me by reminding me that I’d get a T-shirt with a dorky picture of Shakespeare on it. The race, after all, is called “A Midsummer Night’s Run.”
Okay, so she actually didn’t say “dorky,” but it is kind of dorky, and I like it in all of its dorkiness. It resonates with me.
So I hesitantly agreed, wishing I hadn’t decided to pretty much give up on running as a valid part of my life two weeks ago. All I could do now was rest and drink lots of water. One last training run wasn’t going to help anything.
Then came Saturday afternoon and the storms rolled in. The sky got darker and darker, the wind picked up, our chairs on the front porch blew away, and our trees in the backyard were whipping around frighteningly. J and I were sanding drywall mud in the upstairs bathroom during this time, so we had a pretty good view of it all out the window. I called Rebekah to find out what was going on down in Lexington, and she said the race was still on.
I have these friends. We like to run together. Sometimes it’s two of us, sometimes three or four or five. We mostly like to run in the woods, though I never run on trails without them because I’m sure I’d get lost. We call ourselves the Pink Baboonz. Don’t ask. I’m honestly not really sure where that came from.
What I do know is that even though I genuinely enjoy running, I still have times when I struggle to get out the door. In those times, I can call a Baboon, and set a date and we’re good to go.
I am a runner.
I use the term “runner” loosely. Maybe a jogger? A really fast walker? No, I choose to be called a runner. I may look like a turtle trudging through peanut butter, but in my heart, I’m a runner. I’m not good at it, I don’t look good doing it, but I love it. It’s taught me so many things about myself over the past year I’ve been doing it.
One thing I’ve learned is that I prefer to run with others. Whether it’s the distraction of conversation, the encouragement passing between my partner and I, or the need to go just a few more steps so as not to look like a wimp, I always do better with another runner at my side.
Pardon me while I toot my own horn a minute.
I ran a 10K race this morning.
And my friend Christie and I averaged a per-mile pace that was significantly faster than I typically run, even on the treadmill.
And it was super cold this morning.
And I had a baby 6 months ago tomorrow.
But enough about my awesomeness. That’s not the point of this post.
The “Run for Another 10K” was organized to raise awareness–and funds, of course–for Promise Kids a Future, a nonprofit international adoption agency. I signed up for it a few weeks ago because (a) it was for a good cause, (b) the 10k route was right here in my little town, and (c) I am a crazy person.