A couple of months ago I decided that running the Run Like a Girl Trail Race at the Whitewater Center at 6 months pregnant may not be such a wise idea. I kept imagining myself falling over the edge of a narrow path on the South Trail. Or finding myself unable to properly gauge a drop-off leap on the Trail of Joy, rolling belly first down a muddy hill, then trampled by kind (I'm sure), yet eager running ladies in search of an impressive time race result. These visions continued to haunt me until I decided participating was simply out of the question.
Until five days before the race. Post-preschool drop-off, I was out running my usual 3 mile loop around the school, while pushing sweet Stella in the jogger, I had a second thought. I want to run that race. And that was replaced with a third thought. I can't run that race, which was replaced with a fourth, I must run that race, that was edged out by, You can't do it.
The dithering. It went on and on and on.
Finally, Thursday rolled around and I checked the web site registration, confirming that online registration had ended, but wait! A woman with a passion for running trails and an interest in supporting a great cause (RLAG strives to increase awareness and funds to support HERA women's cancer foundation) can register in-person at the Charlotte Running Company on Friday from 2-5pm. Here was my chance. And I finally believed that baby belly and I could safely trot our way around the glorious trails of the Whitewater Center on a sunny Saturday morning.
Then Friday happened. It was a day of Year-End Parent/Teacher Conferences and strawberry picking and strawberry-jam making and a 4pm tutoring commitment and I resigned to not making it over to register. I was okay with this decision, at least that's what I kept telling myself. And while I got the kids into the tub for their evening bath, I tried to push the deflated feeling out of my body, while simultaneously pondering and talking myself out of an early morning, day of race registration.
With the kids busily arguing over whose turn it was to stick their head under the tub faucet to get blasted with freezing cold water, I walked by our bedroom door, on my way to collect clean pajamas. Mark walked out holding the most precious piece of race swag I've ever laid my eyes on: a Run Like a Girl shoulder bag. Inside, a race bib. 830 was my number. My Mother's Day present: I was registered for the 5k. It was official. I was going to run that race.
All four (well, five) of us headed to the Whitewater Center in the morning. The gift of a 9am start time was much appreciated. I was neither late, nor was I rushing. Plenty of potty time, but not too much time to contemplate various unpleasant scenarios that could occur. So I spent my few extra moments before the race began doing what I do best: should I wear this jacket or not? Should I carry my water bottle or not? I gave my jacket and water bottle to Mark three times, and took them back three times. The unusual morning fog lifted, the sun broke through, and the temperature began to quickly rise. I gave my jacket back to Mark, and decided the water bottle would be a good thing to have. Next thing I knew, it was time.
The 8kers were off first, followed shortly by the smaller group of 5kers.
Race distance wise, I knew I was set. I've been on a steady 3-4 miles a day for the entire pregnancy. And my plan was simple: stay hydrated, pick up my feet, and use the lake loop start as an opportunity to find my pace (and everyone else's) in order to stay out of the way of the speedy of the speedy and ahead of the walkers.
Just as we wrapped up our start around the lake and began to head right into the forest, I spotted my three best cheerleaders standing by the trail head. They jumped up and down, clapped, hooted, hollered, woo-hooed, wooted, and chanted, Go, Mama, go!
So I went. Right into the woods. Oh, Whitewater Center trails, how have I missed thee? The scent of honeysuckle floated through the crisp air. Really. The well-compacted dirt was gentle on my as-of-late burdened hips. I am not kidding. I felt light. I felt quick. I checked my Garmin. I was running three minutes faster than I've run in months. I did a few, On your lefts, then found myself exactly where I wanted to be: in the woods, on a rolling trail, no one in front of me that I could see, no one behind me that I could feel, and running. Then the lovely chime of one mile sang from my Garmin, and in an effort to finish without falling, and finish without hurting myself, I toned it down and got back to my baby belly trot.
Around 1.75 a water station and smiling, friendly face of a trail pal manning the hydration-goods appeared. Suddenly it occured to me that my time out there was nearing its end and I almost wished I had signed up for the 8k. But I pushed that thought away, knowing that I had nearly missed the experience entirely, and with that, I gratefully continued on down the path.
At some point shortly after the chime of the second mile, the 8kers and 5kers met again on the trail. I was no longer flying solo and found myself hopping off the single-file, narrow trail to let some of the more ambitious ladies pass. That didn't last too terribly long as we were suddenly heading out of the woods, back onto the lake loop, and heading into the final stretch to the finish. Amongst the loud cheers and hoots and hollers, I heard my fan club before I actually saw them. Go, Mama, go! Then I saw their sweet faces and very nearly choked on my overwhelmed emotions.
58 out of 116 participants. 13th in my age group. Turns out baby number three is a pretty darn good running partner.
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