As I mentioned the other day, we spent the weekend racing. Running and driving around to catch everyone in their various races.
It started Saturday morning, with my 5k race. Actually, back up a minute; it started on Friday afternoon when we went to the Cleveland Marathon Expo to pick up our race bibs and goodie bags. Until this year, the Cincinnati Flying Pig Marathon is the only big marathon weekend event that we've participated in. Keith has run the half and the full marathon there several times, and I've done the 10k and marathon relay leg. We've always enjoyed the Pig and heard many good things about it; in contrast, we've heard some bad things about the Cleveland Marathon—that the organization isn't the best, and that there's not as many spectators, so the "event" feel isn't really there.
From the Expo, we were less than impressed. You had to know your bib number to pick up your stuff, instead of just going by last name. Who knows their bib number?!? I walked up to the desk and said, "I have no idea what my bib number is." They snootily sent me to a bank of computer around the corner, where there was a line to get to the 10 computers because NO ONE KNOWS THEIR BIB NUMBER. That's just dumb. It seems very convenient for the organizers, but incredibly inconvenient for the racers.
Right, so, back to Saturday morning. My race was at 8 o'clock. We were meeting my parents at the Browns stadium (start and end of the 5k) about 7:30. The night before, Keith and I had joked about what would happen if the storm knocked out our power overnight and our alarms didn't go off.
Fast forward to 6:45—15 minutes after my alarm was supposed to go off. That's right! We actually predicted the future and our power went out. The benefit of that is that we were so busy trying to get to the start line that I didn't have time to be nervous. I really didn't run enough leading up to the race—not enough runs, and not long enough runs. But I finally decided it didn't really matter. It didn't matter how fast (or slowly) I ran, or if I walked. I'm 4.5 months pregnant! All I would have to do is finish the race and it's a win.
So I signed up for the race, and nearly missed it. I didn't have time to be nervous, but I did have time for a weird high school moment. We were hurrying to the race, walking a few blocks behind this group of 2 guys and 1 woman. I ended up chatting with the woman when we ran to the bathroom before the start and found out that the two guys were from my high school, and they graduated a year before I did. I'm sure I hadn't seen them in 15 years, but as soon as she said the names, I recognized them. So weird!
As you'll notice, most of my race recap doesn't actually have anything to do with the race. Because that really wasn't the highlight. I felt good while I ran it, and I ran the whole time except for the water break midway. I sprinted at the end because I still had energy to spare .... and then saw my time. It was terrible. I kept telling myself that it didn't matter, but it was more than 11 minutes per mile. I found it pretty depressing.
So we're skipping ahead to the end of the race. The picture above is because, once my race was done and I found Keith and Eleanor and my parents, Eleanor was very excited about her race. She kept wanting to practice, so we ran back and forth across the field many, many times. I guess it was my cool-down.
Of course, when it was actually Eleanor's race time, she wasn't nearly as excited. She wanted a nap, was scared by all the kids and the clowns, and told me she wasn't going to run. But she was allowed to run while holding my hand so she did complete her 50-yard dash and get a medal, which she was very excited about.
Finally, Keith ran the half-marathon on Sunday morning. He wasn't happy with his time of 1:36, with the just awful pace of 7:23/mile. He was depressed for about a day, and then emailed me with his next half-marathon race.
I'm done racing until after the baby's born. So now I'm looking forward to not paying any attention to how slowly I run anymore. I won't time myself at all. I'll walk when I feel like it. And if I ever have any concerns about the fact that I may have been gone about about 40 minutes for a 2-mile run, I'll just attribute it to Beckett's 50 pee stops.