Over the last eight years, my enthusiasm for running hasn't waned, but my actually running totally has. I ran (or rather, jogged) a 5k here or there, but haven't really been "a runner" like I once was.
Last fall a bunch of my friends ran a 10k not far from here. I was barely two months postpartum and didn't think I could work my way up to 6 miles. But I said I would run it this year. (Again, it was more like jogging.)
I trained. But I have to admit, it is hard to figure out when to run when you have three kids. I ran twice a week, never for very long, and then one day I realized that the race was in 3 weeks and I could barely run 2.5 miles. I kicked it up a notch, but it seemed the world was against me. I would plan on running and then it would be blustering outside and I couldn't take Jack and Katie in the stroller. Or I would plan on switching off with a friend and Jack would wake up puking. I think the farthest I went was 4 miles.
Then it was race day. On Saturday morning, amid the rain and mist and wind, and beautiful fall foliage, me and three other friends ran a 10k. And I did it! I jogged the entire way. About mile 5 my knees started killing me. But I kept going and I actually finished in better time than I thought I would.
I still came in last. There might have been one walker behind me. I'm not sure. Either way, I finished.
