4.96

I mentioned on here the other day that I ran a race this past Saturday. What I didn't mention is that this was a major accomplishment for me. I can't run. I suck at running. I can run 6/10 of a mile before I have to walk, and usually when I run I want to vomit. I also hadn't been able to exercise for about a month due to me being sick and Baby being sick so much. I was really nervous.
For the week leading up to the event, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to do the race, that my cold would just kick my ass too much. When my cold (found out today NOT a cold but bronchitis, awesome) got slightly better I worried that I would come in last or that everyone else would be skinnier than me. I worried that I would vomit on the course or that I'd be kicked out of the race for illegally using my ipod.
None of those worries were founded. I got to the race on Saturday morning and saw some people wearing jeans. When I saw that I felt better. I felt less better when the race began and the people wearing jeans passed me.
I run for the endorphins. I exorcise the demons that haunt my head all the time. The first mile or so was spent getting rid of the demons. I thought about people who've hurt me and prayed for them and prayed that I would stop thinking of them someday. I thought about things that have hurt me and prayed that I would stop thinking of them someday. I thanked God for Husband and Baby and that's when I knew I was set to get this thing done.
I wanted to quit several times, but each time I wanted to quit I thought of how Husband and Baby would be waiting for me when I finished. I thought maybe Husband would be proud of me for doing this and how I'd get to hold my sweet baby very soon. I couldn't wait. I thought of how I was doing this for Baby-to model an active, semi-healthy lifestyle that involves exercise and taking care of myself. I thought of how it was okay that I was doing this alone-I do most things alone these days (these days being the last 3 1/2 years)-because even though I was alone, I was still doing something. And I'd see Husband and Baby very soon. I passed a makeshift pet-a-pet zoo towards the end of the course, I thought that I would take Baby to see the animals and I would take a picture of Baby fascinated with the animals. I couldn't wait. I crossed the finish line and saw my mother with no Husband and no Baby. They weren't there. They hadn't come to see me. I was crushed and told my mother I was fine, in the curt tone I reserve only for people who know me really well.
Husband told me that he'd felt sick and thought it best to stay home. He said it was okay that he stayed home because I'd been saying all week that he didn't have to come. Clearly, he's never met a girl before.
I have a souvenir medal and my race number. I got an email today with a link to pictures of me on the course. You can see me in all my fat dorkdom. My favorites are the ones where I can see me crossing the finish line and someone else crossing the finish line after me. I didn't come in last! Go me. My dad, who's in Africa still, sent me flowers. I love getting flowers, so I was excited.
I think doing races might be addicting. My uncle's girlfriend said she does them because it helps motivate her to exercise if she's got something to train for. Baby and I are planning on doing a 10k up in NoVa in December. This time I might try to coordinate my headband better.