Packet pick-up isn't my favorite activity. It's exciting, but also nerve wracking. I feel like a fraud. Surely, one day I'll be found out and some race official will pluck my race bib from my hands, and excuse me from the event. I'm a wannabe runner in a non-runner body. Oh, well.
But this packet pick-up had an extra surprise for me. In the packet was a lovely book containing the names of all the people who had signed up for the event. YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME. I devoured it. Looked at all the people I knew. People I know who are good runners. Fast runners. Real runners.
The effect was exactly like when I get those effing magazines from my high school or university, detailing the amazing accomplishments of other alumni. So-and-so is the head of a multi-national corporation. So-and-so cured cancer. So-and-so saved a little girl and a kitten from a burning building. Or the ones that stab even deeper: So-and-so got married, has been married for an eon, just celebrated a century of wedded bliss.
My response to this: Bed. Ben and Jerry. Covers. Bad movie on the iPad. I can't cope.
And such was my response to the stupid magazine with nauseating list of other runners. Except for I'm a single mom with four boys, so I couldn't retreat to bed; there was too much to do. I couldn't drown my sorrows with Ben and Jerry; I don't share well and those containers are too tiny for one person let alone five. I couldn't watch some bad movie; they all have to be PG-13 or less around here. This was no time for Snow Dogs. It was serious sad movie, feel my pain type of movie time.
But none of that could happen. So I contacted my race day partner instead. Asked about the details...the pick-up, the drop-off, the food, the hydration. You know...the stuff.
He's single, no kids, dedicated to the art and science of exercise. An seasoned marathoner, ultramarathoner, trail runner, triathlete, Ironman. He's serious business. He's a guy who goes to bed at 7 PM the night before a race. He's a guy who consumes things like "nutrition" and dextrose.
I eat bananas. And go to bed immediately after my little ones are asleep. And the dinner dishes are done. And the laundry is folded.
But I just love him for his down-to-earth approach. His centeredness. His curiosity about the events, the sports, the body, the life.
So he reminded me the night before and the day of, it's just a morning. A few hours of exercise. Fun. Have a good time.
So we set off at 4 AM. Started running by 630 AM.
The half marathon. My favorite distance by far. Long enough to be challenging. Not so long that you're wrecked after. It's enough time to run, but also enough time to experience the rest of your day. It's as close to perfection as this life comes, I think. (That was hyperbolic, but I'm allowed.)
Running teaches me something. Every time I do it. And this day was no different. I had two hours and six minutes of glorious introspection and nothingness. Just the one foot in front of the other. Just the keep going. Just the be here now. It doesn't get any better than that.
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