Mini-Marathon...COMPLETE

Jackson and I foolishly signed up for the Mini-Marathon again this year. After last year's race (which you can read about here: Last year's post. Doing so will make this year's entry make much more sense.) My friend Amber also signed up and ran by herself because her husband was the only wise one among us who wouldn't run again. (She only ran alone because she had a better pace than me and wanted to try for a PR.)

Today's race was much less stressful than last year. I don't know why, but it was. Our good friend Andrew works downtown and let us use his parking pass so we could save $20 there. Score! Then I had a brilliant plan to pee before the race (novel idea!) inside the mall to avoid a porta potty. Those things are NOT cool for women. Ick. So gross. Anyway, by the time we waited in line (correction: I waited in line. Men's restrooms never seem to have lines so Jackson was in and out. So unfair.) Anyway, by the time we got out to our corrals things were moving and we hardly had to wait to start the race. That part was awesome. The start of the race is so exciting. Anything seems possible. And then you realize that you didn't adequately train (cue a blame on the harsh Indiana winter we had) and things aren't going as smoothly as you'd like...meaning you're dying before mile 1 is over. CRAP! Thank goodness your husband is running with you and won't let you quit because if he weren't...

The race drags carries on. You PR the 5k. Hooray. Your husband says, "we're almost to the track!" You're not. He lied. You finally get to the town of Speedway and realize that you've got blisters already. Ugh. Before you go into the track you stop to pee (ugh! Stupid bladder!) and remove your shoe to apply band-aids from the medical team. Imagine your SHEER SHOCK when you look up and see MORGAN. Morgan! Morgan!!! The little girl from last year who taunted you to keep running. What are the odds? 35,000 runners and little Satan Morgan shows back up at your weakest moment? That's the motivation you need. You keep going.

The miles pass. Slowly. Then you get to mile 11.5 and you announce to your husband that if someone shot you right now you'd not only hug and thank them before dying, you'd make them the beneficiary on your life insurance policies. You mean it. You're hating life.

Mile 12.3 arrives and your husband, usually a lovely man, says, "Let's run HARD to the finish!" You have nothing left. Said husband wouldn't stop for Starbucks on the drive to the race. He scolded you for trying to eat before the race. He cautioned you against overhydration. Then he asks you to run .8 after you've covered over 12. You hate this man. You tell him to hush. (Perhaps not that nicely.) You keep your chosen pace. Your blisters keep screaming. Your hips continue to hurt like you've just given birth (not that you know what that is like). You whine about not ever seeing the finish line. And then you see it. Like a beacon in the night after time spent lost at sea, you see it. Sweet relief.

Until you realize that it is still .3 miles away. You again want that person to shoot you. Where is the shooter? Why are you still upright?!

You get to the finish. You actually do a little sprint to the finish to try to beat that pesky husband. He knows you too well and expected this. You both finish at the exact same time. Bah humbug. You cry. You are so happy to be finished. Your feet huuuuuuurt. Your hips hurt. You. Are. Finished. No really. Finished. How are you going to get back to the car? Oh. You're not. That husband you used to hate runs (yep. Runs. After just running 13.1 miles. UGH!) to the car and comes to pick you up. You love him again.

He finally lets you eat. Lunch is amazing. Food has never tasted better. Aside from a few errands you spend the rest of the day relaxing and trying to recover. And by rest and recover you mean that you clean the whole house and that husband mows the lawn. You vow to never run this thing again. Your husband reminds you that next weekend holds another 13.1 mile race only this time in Fargo. You're not sure how you feel about him now. ;)

Our bibs and medals

A closeup of our medals- pretty cool this year!