The name is actually quite scary for a non-runner like myself. I don't really know what the heck I was thinking when I decided that running should be on my to-do list. Nevertheless, I found myself in the car at 6am on Saturday morning driving to what would surely be my best estimation of hell. It did not help to arrive at a parking lot full of skinny, Nike-clad, Camelbak-wearing people who were already doing warm-up laps to the registration table. I'm pretty sure they could smell fear. I was instantly regretting my apparel choice of spandex and tank top when I saw all of the 6 paks walking around.
Despite my extreme anxiety, it was really great to be there with my dad and mohawk-sportin' husband. All of the commotion and pre-race activity was super exhilarating, and I think I actually started feeling confident. The race began and I was ready!
What an AWESOME course! Green back country, perfect overcast weather, and beautiful scenery were almost enough to take my mind off of ALL. THE. HILLS. In all truthfulness, my training regime for this race was not consistent or adequate in any way, and to top it all off, I hurt my knee a few weeks ago and ended up not running until the actual race. It was incredibly intimidating to be passed up so effortlessly by so many runners, but I got over it pretty quick and focused on my own race.
I was really shocked because I felt great for the first ten miles and actually thought I was going to finish under 2:30...then, mile 11 came. I ended up having to limp my way through the last 3 miles, and it was in no way graceful. I probably looked like the biggest idiot when I trekked up the hills sideways, which is why, I'm assuming, the nice military personnel on the sidelines offered me a ride to the finish line.
The last quarter of a mile came up and I could see the end. My dad, who had already finished (with a GREAT time), saw my pathetic gimp, and informed me I had about 7 minutes to hobble to the finish line...so, I decided to attempt some form of running. It hurt bad, and I think I started crying. A passerby called me a "drama queen". Ouch.
Then, a perfectly sweet girl saw me and probably decided my poor self needed a shoulder-to-lean-on-kind-of-finish, so she proceeded to put her arm under mine and guide me to the finish line. People were cheering me on. She kept telling me how "brave" I was. My husband was smirking at my awkwardness. I think I started crying more because of how embarrassed I was. Drama Queen, indeed.
Anyways, I finished with a not-so-fantastic time, a bum knee, and a good dose of humility, but am proud of the first 10 miles I pumped out! The husband did FANTASTIC...1:49. Can't wait to do it again next year.
I'm hoping for a new nickname next time around though...maybe "Sparky" or just "Queen".
Girl, you should feel nothing but proud to even want to finish.. Let alone actually doing it under your condition! The amount of time has nothing to do with it.. Just crossing that finish line is freaking awesome in and of itself! And you ROCKEd those spandex and tank top... Everyone knows you are one hot mamma!!
ReplyDeleteAh, thanks Kate! You're too sweet!
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