The Wicked 10k is slowly becoming a family affair in our house hold. My mom joined me again this year on the race course. I gushed all about it last year, and I am repeating it again this year.
When you run, you know how good it feels to push yourself and to cross a finish line. Although I love feeling this feeling, I love it even more when I watch people accomplish this within themselves. Seriously. Go spectate a race. Hang out and watch the last person cross the finish line. It will move you to tears (and make you want to sign up for a race too). I love it even more when I see it in someone I love. Watching my nonrunning mom (who is going to have to admit see is slowly becoming a running), run across a finish line made me shed a few tears too. She ran the 10k in 1:24:59 nearly 5 minutes faster than last year. Even though my mom says she isn’t a runner, a 13:42 minute mile sure does sound like it includes running.
Running Mama
Cole also joined us in our new family tradition this year. He ran the Monster Mile, and at the last minute, he invited me to join him. I jumped at the chance of running with my eight year old. I know I won’t have too many of these invitations. It was one of the best miles I’ve ever run. We laughed. We talked. His speedy little legs took off once we got out of the congested start. He crossed the finish line with an 11 minute mile, but when the course opened up and he was able to run, he was maintaining an 8 minute mile.
Running with my Boy
I think we need to recruit another family member next year? Husband? Dad? Amy? Can Chet do a Monster Mile at almost 2? I’m loving this family tradition.
Speaking of traditions, I think this might need to be one also.
I forgot to mention I was running a 10k this weekend. I had planned on running a long time ago, and then I decided against it. And then after my mom every so gently (or maybe forcefully) reminded me that I needed to beat her this year, I officially signed up.
Right after Chet was born, before I even ran 1 mile postpartum, I remember sitting on my couch making my bucket list of races for 2012. Sub one hour at the Wicked 10k was something I really wanted to work towards. Since mileage is my first love, getting faster took a back seat to increasing my mileage over the summer months. When I finally signed up for this race, I started to wonder. Could I break an hour? A 59:59 10k equals a 9:40 minute mile. Yes. I’ve run 9s. But I’ve never run that fast for 6.2 miles.
Having just run my fastest 10k post-baby during the Crawlin Crab half, I started to wonder if it would be possible. I ran the last 6.2 miles of the Crawlin Crab 1:02:41. Race Calculators predicted I could run 1:01 something based on my half marathon time.
Expo Fun with Cole
As I approached race day, I set my goals.
Best case scenario: Sub 1 hour (faster than a 9:40 pace) with my final mile in the 8s
Plan B: 9:xx pace with negative splits
Plan C: I’d be disappointed if I saw a time slower than the 1:02 I ran during the half marathon.
Race day morning arrived, and I lined up with my friend Carrie who also had the goal of breaking one hour. We wanted to run fast. As soon as our corral started, my excitement got the best of me. I forgot to start my garmin until about a half mile into the run. The race started fast. My motto for the race was go big or bust. A fast start would make me go big, so I held on.
Mile 1 (via my garmin): 9:34
Hang on. Hang on. Hang on. I was starting perfect for a sub 1 hour race. I just had to hold on. Carrie and I loosely made the plan to run together, but either one of us could pull away if we felt more in our legs. We wanted to run at a conversation pace until mile 2 and then we would pick up the pace.
Mile 2 (via my garmin): 9:05
And I was still talking. It hit me. I was going to run under one hour. Tears found me, but I quickly let them go. I had to run. Since I started my garmin late, I knew we had just under 4 miles to go. The next few miles were heading north straight into the wind being stirred up from Hurricane Sandy. I expected my miles to slow down a bit because of the wind, but I knew I could hold on to a 9:40 pace.
Mile 3 (via my garmin): 8:46
Well maybe the wind was working in my favor. It was making me push harder, and my miles were getting faster.
Mile 4 (via my garmin): 8:47
Holy crap. I was really going to break an hour. The miles were getting tough. I told Carrie to go on a few times, but every time she started to pull away I managed to keep up. This week has been a very hard week for our family. We have two close family members fighting cancer, and it has been a whirlwind of emotions and scenarios this week. I knew going into the run that when I thought the next mile was going to be tough, I could fight through it. It was a mile. It was simply running. In comparison to the real world, a hard mile is nothing. So I held on. And I pushed harder.
Mile 5: 8:57
At this point, I told Carrie to go on and she did. As she kept running I promised her I wasn’t falling far behind. I was keeping her in my sight. Ever muscle in my legs wanted to walk, but there was no way I was walking. I was beating the clock. I was pushing hard because running a hard mile is nothing compared to real life.
Final .68 (via my garmin): 8:52 pace
Get to the finish line. Get to the finish line. Get to the finish line. I could see Carrie up ahead of me. I let her pull me. I could see the finish line. I let that pull me. I did not just run fast for nearly 6 miles to quit now.
Garmin Finish: 5.68 miles. 51:18
When I ran under the finish line, the race clock said 1:01:20. I had started in corral 4. Assuming there was at least 30 seconds between corral starts, I felt pretty confident that I broke one hour. In my head, I optimistically thought I ran 58 something, but knew I’d see 59 something.
Post Race Smiles
Carrie and I went to watch my mom finish the race too. I beat her this year, but she beat her time from last year by 5 minutes. Seeing her cross the finish line RUNNING was even better than crossing the finish line myself. I then ran the Monster Mile with Cole. (More on both of these in my next post.)
And I waited. and waited. and waited. for the official results to post. I went home. I showered. and I waited some more. Finally, after lunch, I got a text from Carrie. Results were posted. As I typed my name into the computer, I hoped and hoped for a 58 but knew I’d see a 59.
Official results: 56:31 (9:07 pace)
(Carrie’s results: 56:07)
Fantastic races for everyone
I’m still in shock 24 hours later. I can not believe I did that. I’m still digesting it. I know I haven’t tapped into my full running potential yet, but yesterday was a taste of what I’m capable of achieving. My best case scenario was 59:59. I crushed that time. I had desperately hoped I’d see an eight something mile for my last mile. My last 4 miles were in the 8s.
I think it’s time to I stop underestimating myself. These legs of mine love to run. Every inch of me loves ever single time I put on my running shoes. Physically I like pushing. Mentally I like pushing. I’m slowly learning that I can push a whole lot hard than I think.
Forty-One Weeks. Four Days. That is how long Chet lived inside my body. Today he is forty-one weeks and five days old. His life has now existed outside my body longer than it did inside.
Another bitter-sweet moment for this mama.
Picking Pumpkins over the weekend
Since his birthday, we have celebrated so much. As quickly as he grew inside my belly, he seems to be growing even faster outside of it. Rolling over. Sitting up. Crawling. Laughing. Talking. Eating. Climbing. Pulling. Walking. Dancing.
Since his birthday, I have already forgotten so much. The feel of a baby flipping over inside my belly. His hiccups. The nonstop kicking sessions. The feel of his tiny hiney under my right rib cage. I miss hula hooping my hips all day long. I miss rubbing his little round hiney that always stuck out. I miss resting my dinner plate on my belly.
Yay Baby!
He is, by far, the best thing I’ve ever created in 291 days! Life is simple. And oh so sweet.
Hooray for a photo with all 4 of us! (Chet learned “so big” this weekend!)
This little piece of a gem delivered itself to my inbox yesterday morning. As I read it, my lips let out a whisper. Ohhh. And then an overwhelming sense of comfort found me.
It’s only when you make the process your goal that the big dreams can follow ~Oprah
This makes sense to me. I understand.
Right now I’m training for a marathon. Every day my goal is to follow my training plan. I’m following the process. At the end of my marathon training cycle, a finish line will be waiting for me. That big dream of finish a marathon will be there waiting for me. But I have to focus on the process of getting there. The long runs. The strength training. The yoga. I need them all to get to that big dream.
In the process of letting go you will lose many things from the past, but you will find yourself. […] It will be a permanent Self, rooted in awareness and creativity. Once you have captured this, you have captured the world. ~ Deepak Chopra
I’m feeling the need to make these dreams of mine more tangible. I want to feel them. I want to try them on for size. I want to see what feels right and ditch the rest. So stay tuned, I have a lot of processing I want to do which always results in my desire for a pen and a piece of paper (and my blog!).
Last night, after tucking the boys into bed, finally backing up my laptop so I could upload Chet’s nine month photos, and cleaning up the house (excluding the kitchen and my bedroom), I crawled into bed (over the pile of laundry) to read the last two chapters of Wild by Cheryl Strayed. Have you heard of this book yet? Have you read it? It was recommended by Oprah. It’s on New York Times best seller. Yet I hadn’t heard of this book until a friend recommended it. (Thank you Riya!). As soon as I finished the last page, wiped tears from my face, and went to place it on my bedside table, I wanted to go back to the beginning. I wanted to reread the entire book and digest it a little deeper. I wanted to pull out a highlighter and mark up my favorite pages. I wished I was 22 again and waking up to go to a literature class to dissect every word instead of a job shuffling through emails and contracts.
My first love, my first true deep love and connection in this world, has always been books. It’s simple. I love words. I love stories. I love being a witness to a life journey. My second love has always been the trees. And then I fell deeply in love with a little boy, and a grown man, and another little boy (in that order). This book has a little bit of all of that excluding the boys, but it is her journey to self-love which can blossom into a deeper love for husbands and children and life and books and trees.
Do you ever wonder why certain memories remain so vivid?
Just after my 21st birthday, I sat on a plane next to my mom flying out to Arizona. I was reading a magazine. The magazine told the story of young people who did mission work. They flew to Cuba to deliver medical supplies. I remember a longing inside of me. I felt a connection to those individuals. I longed to return to Cuba (after living there in the 8th grade) and venturing out beyond the gates around the military bases to the real country of Cuba. I could teach. I was a few semester away from graduating from college. I was studying the one thing I truly loved – English. And books. And writing. As a back up I was studying education as well. I could fly to that country and I could teach. It seemed like a dream.
I didn’t know yet I could actually make dreams come true.
That magazine got shoved into my carry on. The dream got buried deeply beside it. When I returned from that trip out west, I said yes to a man I tried to break up with before leaving on that plane. I married him a year later. A year after that I had his baby. I’ve never returned to Cuba. I have never taught in a formal setting. But I fell head over heels in love with that little boy, and my life started to reveal itself. When I had that itty bitty baby, I realized that I can make dreams come true, but it is up to me. The world isn’t going to deliver a dream.
This morning as I drove to work, I wiped more tears from my cheeks. I still struggle leaving my baby every single day. My heart wants to be at home with him. The same thoughts always bubble to the surface as I shed these tears. Would working be easier if I loved my job? Would it be worth the time away? But the mom in me always fights those thoughts. Since I need to work, my job provides so much flexibility that isn’t found in other jobs. I never miss a school party. I’m always home with my sick babies. I can leave early on days my heart can’t stand to be away for another second.
But I still cry on my way to work.
Will there ever be an answer to those questions? I know now that dreams are not delivered. Dreams are earned and I do know how to make them come true. Unlike that twenty-two year old girl on an airplane, perhaps I don’t know exactly what my dreams are right now. Or perhaps I’m shoving them back into a carry-on to be lost with magazines and stories about Cuba. Or perhaps the demands of life (those silly things called bills) are getting stacked on top of the dreams. Which one should be placed on top? Although I think i prefer them to be messy.
I don’t have an answer to any of my own questions. And to be honest, I don’t really want one. Every single day I’m lucky enough to love my boys. Each week I’m lucky enough to put on running shoes and reconnect with myself on the trails in our state park. Every day I find my yoga mat, I find contentment with my life as it is right now.
I have dreams. Really big dreams. And they include raising my boys to be amazing men. They include creating a warm healthy loving relationship with my husband (the 2nd one. the perfect one.) that I hope my boys will duplicate on some level as the grown up. And they include so much more. They include all the pieces of me that have existed since I first fell in love – with life, with books, and trees, and babies, and my husband – but most importantly, they include everything I love about me.
Yes. I have dreams. No. I don’t have answers. But it really is the simple things. And I’m really good at the simple things. Nothing makes me happier than a baby laugh, the sound of the school bus delivering Cole from school, the sound of my husband scrapping the grill in preparation for dinner, an acorn falling from a tree on my run, savasana, pigeon pose, and a really good book to read to remind me why I love reading, and life, and books, and trees.
The mess is a part of the journey. Every day I have arrived. I will cry many more tears and wonder many more thoughts. I will celebrate all the little things a long the way. Life isn’t about making dreams come true. It’s about life and trees and books. It’s about loving. And that is something I’m good at thanks to saying yes when I should have said no and the baby that followed a year later.
Kristy Maute 