The Hunts Points Hustle 5K was an inexpensive event. For $5 I signed Jake up for the 5K too. I asked Jake if he would like give running a 5K a try and he said yes. I was already training myself to run 3.1 miles straight. I took Jake out for a couple of training runs. He ran ahead of me to start. He ran like a child, from side to side on the track, smacking tree branches on the path. He slowed down when he burnt out and walked behind me the rest of the way. So Saturday morning, at a brisk 39 degrees, I attached a racing strip to his sneaker and we moved over to the start line. Jake took a look at all the runners in their gear and said " you're going to to run fast and leave me behind". I told him that I would do no such thing and reminded him that I run very slow and we will be fine. Then a horn blew and Jake took off, running with the crowd as fast as he could. He looked over his shoulder at me and never looked back again. I continued to run at my usual pace thinking oh my goodness I've lost my son and I have run this kind of race before and I can do this.
Unlike the races in Central Park, I found myself a distance from others and it felt like I was running early morning on a weekend. I was listening to my music which was telling me I was halfway there when suddenly the finish line appeared. Other finishers were cheering at the finish line and all I could do was look my long lost son. And there he was. I crossed the finish line thinking I should not kill him in public. He was waiting with an older woman who assured me that he had to run his own race. After the race, I got to do something I never did before. They had a Zumba instructor giving Zumba lessons and I jumped into a spot and did Zumba for the first time in my life.
On Thursday I went to pick up my number for the 1.7 mile race. I walked from my office in midtown to the upper east side, approximately a little over two miles. When I received my number bib, I noticed that it did not have the tracking strip on it. When I asked one of the volunteers she pointed to a young man across then room. So I asked him to help me obtain my strip and he looked at my number bib and said "we do not time that race". I felt as though I was stabbed in the heart. Did he just look down at my 1.7mile race? Does he realize how hard it was for me to be able to run 1.7miles? It was not until I got home that I realized I actually walked farther to pick up my racing bib than the length of the actual race.
Bobism:
Eating always makes me feel better until I stop and then I feel worse.