Daddy and Lucy putting running shoes on
And then we did this:
I ran a race. For the first time in my life. ME! I ran. A race. With my feet and running and stuff.
It felt good to run! I was keeping up with other people! My sweetest Bubba kept pace with me the entire time and encouraged me to slow down when I was hurting and keep going when I was feeling good. Because he's awesome and supportive and loves me like that.
Except I was disappointed with my finish. The course included a hill - not a huge hill, but I'd call it a big-ish hill - and going up was OK, but going down hurt my knees so bad I had to walk (limp?) for two or three minutes. I suppose the disappointment comes from the fact that I was running 4 miles last week and I was doing fine at it. I know I can DO it. I just couldn't when it "counted."
I keep thinking, "Man, I would have kicked that race's butt if I had just trained on hills a little" or "If my knees weren't so weak..." And it's hard for me to recognize that I just ran a 5k in the fastest I ever have (which ISN'T FAST, in case you were wondering at about a ten and a half minute mile pace). (See? There I go again making excuses for myself.)
Will there ever be a time when I give myself a break and I can celebrate a victory without having to qualify it or without comparing my feat to what I had imagined it would be?
AND? I've only been running for three months. I'm still new at this and not very good! I want to tell everybody I know that I finished a 5k with a bum wheel in under 36 minutes, and at the same time, I want to keep it a secret and maybe tell them about the SECOND race I run - in which I run the WHOLE thing and my time is better.
My goal isn't to be the fastest runner in the race. It's to run a race. SIX YEARS I've been talking about running a 5k with my Bubba. I guess I just wish I could celebrate that without beating myself up for not being perfect on the very first try.