Faster than Running

           Last week I had to be a grown-up. Again. Normally I can squeak by in what I lovingly refer to as “pseudo-grown-up” world. That’s where you are technically at a physical age in which you are considered a grown-up, but secretly you are still treating said activity/excursion/event in the same way a much younger version of yourself would.   I live on the edge.

            But last week I had a realization. I would call it an epiphany, but I like to think those refer to something positive and this wasn’t.   So I will call it a realization. Months ago, on a high from running the 4 mile Fleet Feet Run in Chapel Hill, I signed up for the 10 miler (at a steep discount, I might add!) KNOWING that if I could run 4 miles with a 10 month old, I could doubtless run 10 miles with a 22 month old! Because 22 months is much easier than 10, right? In my head she would already be a pretty independent being and say something along the lines of “You’re going to run a race, Mama? May I make a sign and meet you at the finish line with bells?” and "Oh, do you have a long run today? I'll sleep all night and wake up smiling."  Reveling in the perfection of my own offspring and in the beauty of a spring morning in Chapel Hill, I paid my registration fee, put in my t-shirt size and sat back and relaxed.  

            Around December or January I pulled up an excellent Hal Higdon training plans (his are my favorite!) and mapped out my winter/spring running.  Carefully printed in my Filofax, it not only looked doable it looked almost…dare I say it…easy.  I was working out most days, and running pretty steadily.   I was only going to have to add in 1 extra run a week and spend a workout doing speed work. Done and Done.

            Until I actually got started. Which is about the same time my sweet daughter began to cut her molars.   I continue to express astonishment that God felt the need to put in 8 of those things, and then have them come in slowly over a two year period.   I also wonder how often we truly utilize all 32 of our teeth. But I digress. So she began to cut her molars, meaning she was fussy, feverish and screaming at me while sticking everything in the free world into her mouth. Naturally this led to some sort of germ situation, which then quickly developed into back-to-back ear infections. Cue sleepless nights.  Cue rants about teething. Cue not getting out to run as much, and being made fully aware that runs could be cut short in a heartbeat.

            So I ran less and spent more time with my baby.  Then I recalled that  I hated speedwork, so started to do it less. Then some snow days hit. Then Spring happened, and in elementary schools, spring equals pandemonium for months as we have celebration after celebration of everyone who has ever meant anything to us, and then showcases of our work.

            Excuses done, I realized last week that 10 miles wasn’t going to happen for me. My longest run had been a struggling 7 miles. I looked at my husband and said, voice heavy, ready for his shock,

            “I don’t think I’m going to be able to do the 10 miler. I’m thinking (lowers eyes) I’m going to have to drop to the 4 miler.”  I waited for the enormity of what I said to sink in. He nodded his head.

            “Yeah, I figured that would probably happen.” (NOT a direct quote, but what I took away from it)

            Wait a minute.  What was that supposed to mean?  Had I been slacking off in my training? Clearly I had been missing some runs but…oh, yes. Yes, I have been slacking off in the training arena.   And I did get a little upset, and pitch a (mostly) silent fit about it. Then I realized that there was a grown-up decision I could make. I could drop down to the 4 mile run and rock it.  I could run my heart out for 4 miles, attempt to do Laurel Hill without complaining and then cheer on the 10 milers as they came through.    It involved swallowing a good deal of pride, and over analyzing each mile of the course.

            And that, my friends, was my grown-up moment. When I realized that while I could probably do the 10 miler, and probably not have a heart attack, I would probably also really hurt by the time I hit mile 7 or 8, and who knew what would happen on Laurel Hill?   That I would end the race exhausted instead of elated, and this thought – that the Tar Heel 10 miler provides the same snacks for everyone, regardless of distance.   But the most important part of this process, was that I had given up long runs for great reasons- celebrating friends, enjoying opportunities that in the past I might have skipped, and most importantly, taking care of my sweet little one, who is growing up so much faster than I will ever be able to run.