Born to Run

I feel the need to start here by giving mad props (yes, I just said mad props. I am so 4 realz) to my friend Melanie who arrived at my doorstep last night fleeing from a socially awkward goat roast (?), who then crashed on my couch and decided to join me this morning to run a 10K with virtually no training. She is either the coolest person I know or the craziest. (Or could she be both??) Way to give new meaning to the whole "Couch to 10K" movement there, Melanie.

My friend Sarah arrived late and was getting her number AT THE GUN, and she still managed to catch up to run along with us.

So there's another 10K under my belt. This was the slowest time I've ever had and yet I managed to win a medal for placing 3rd in my age group (I believe there were only four of us, but still! An actual medal!). I'm thinking that perhaps running these smaller races is the way to go...

I had a really good run, like the kind of run where you feel like you could just keep running forever. I felt strong. I felt alive. I love that. And I guess that's why I run- to get that alive feeling. I live for those running days when my breathing becomes a mantra and I feel the strength in my legs propelling me forward and my feet feel light as the soles of my shoes seem to bounce off the pavement. And then my mind wanders to places where I don't normally let it go, like the times in my life when I have felt the most alive. Like the moment I watched as my mom took her last breath before leaving us. Or the intensity and crazy pain and joy of the pushes that sent my two babies from my body and into this world.

Birth. Death. Life. And so I run.




Jack is my number one fan. (Note the broken Polaroid camera which he decided to bring along to capture my moment of 10K glory.) I knew there was a 400 meter kids' run after the 10K and I mentioned it to Jack last week. I wasn't sure he would actually do it, but he talked it up for a few days prior, referring to it as "my big race" which was not to be confused with "Mom's big race".

Well, the time came to line up at the start and sure enough, there he was, with a look of fierce determination on his little face as he sized up his pint-sized competition. And then the cowbell rang and he sprinted off down the course like a bat out of hell. The race course curved around and I could see the focus in his eyes as he barrelled his way toward the finish line, mindless of the fact that he was in last place. And there I was, standing on the sideline screaming my head off and jumping up and down like it was the Olympics or something. And then I started to choke up because it was all so damn beautiful, you know? There's my kid running his fool head off and grinning from ear to ear because it's the "big race" and he's a part of it. And just maybe he's getting that alive feeling, too.

My little runner. I am his biggest fan.

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