Tuesday, January 12, 2010

My idea

I ran a 5k.  All 5k of it.  So did my dad, and so did my sister.

It is important to note here that we are not runners.  We're just a couple-a lunatics who said, "hey, let's do more running than we've done ever/in a long, long time next month in the freezing cold."

Actually that was what one lunatic said (me).  Then the other two lunatics said, "Yeah!  Free t-shirts!!"

Wait, that was me too.  But they were just as enthusiastic about the idea.*

Notice I said idea.  Because when the day finally came I swear I've never seen my dad so grumpy.   And Katie was so nervous she practically peed her pants.  Three times.

But there was no turning back.  We were assigned numbers.  And t-shirts.  If we wimped out they would write our names in a book of pansies...in ink.  That is a permanent designation, my friends.

Are you laughing yet?

Is it because you know that 5k is really just 3.2 miles?  And that 3.2 miles really isn't that far?

I would have laughed at this too if my heart wasn't beating in my throat.

So off we went, reluctantly, to the race site.  We watched how others pinned their numbers to their Under Armour running jackets, then pinned ours to our Hanes sweatshirts.

We watched them attach the time tracking chip to their performance enhancing Nikes while we put ours on our Reebok cross trainers.

They warmed up and stretched.  We wondered when we could have a slice of pizza.

"That lady over there is going to beat us."


"She's wearing Spandex."

"But she's 70 years old..."

"I think we can beat that couple over there."

"The guy with his gut pokin' out from under his sweatshirt?  Definitely."

And so the conversations went until we lined up at the starting line.

"5 minute mile-ers up front!"

"Maybe we should go to the very back."

And then the race began.

It.  Was.  Awesome.

Crowds of people lined the streets cheering, blowing whistles and ringing cow bells. 

We ran up hills, we ran down hills, we even ran by people in their spandex pants and expensive runner's gear.

I won't say we made magic on that night, but we did beat our goal (45 minutes) by 7 minutes.  My dad made even better time.

How's that?

He ditched us.

"I got caught up in the crowd!" he says.

"I looked for you, but there were too many people!" he claims.

Right, daddy.  Right.

*It was recently brought to my attention that my dad, in fact, was not looking forward to this race at any time.  I was also informed of his inability to say "no."  Something I wish I had known earlier...

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