I’m not a runner, but I used to pretend I was.
My very first race ever. We were living in Richmond, Virginia, and I was a 22-year-old newlywed. I signed up in the typical January optimism of getting in shape and joined a running group to train for the 10k.
I finished the race, but I was extremely slow. At the halfway mark, a woman in front of me stopped to breastfeed her child. And she still beat me – by a lot.
Towards the end of the race, I got stuck behind a 5-year-old. Don’t ask me how he managed to run the entire 10k, but he clearly had. I really wanted to beat that little kid. But I couldn’t go any faster. So I kept hoping that he’d fall down or start walking so that I could pass him. But no – he beat me too.
My second race – not long after my first race. I cried and sobbed through most of it – all of those little girls with signs on their backs saying that they were walking for their moms. It was extremely emotional – no clue if I actually finished it or not.
You’d think I’d have given up by now, right? But no – Even Steven and I decided to run a marathon. Well – that’s not true. Actually, I got drunk one night and signed us up online. I had no recollection of doing this until the next morning when we both got our confirmation emails – and our receipts for $200.
I thought it was funny. Even Steven told me to start training. (And yes, this was the face he was making.)
You can read the whole story here – but let’s just say that we DID run the whole thing. We DID finish. But every walker and man wearing jeans and cowboy boots finished before we did. (And we came very close to getting divorced around mile 22.)
I walked this race for the first time when I was 19 weeks pregnant with Miles. ONLY 19 weeks. But I came in dead-last place (with my friend Cathy). We tried to speed up when we realized that we were in absolute last place – but then a blind man (complete with a white stick) passed us. This was a fairly low point in my “running” career.
My final race was the summer after Alice was born. I pushed both kids in the double stroller – Alice was 5 months old and Miles was still several months away from turning 2. I had to stop constantly to throw food at Miles – who was getting antsy in the stroller – and to save poor Alice from getting crackers mashed into her head.
>And that was when I had an “AHA” moment. Really – it was more like a “DUH” moment.
I do not like running. I am not good at it. I will not do it anymore.