Race Day

 I lie alone on my new green percale sheets in a bed that is too big, in a room that is too cold. Dreading the dawn and what is to come, my sleep comes in fits and starts. Finally the clock says it is not too early to rise and make coffee. It's 6 AM  in my kitchen and my daughter is pumping breast milk, something she does at least 6 times everyday. She is giddy with excitement about the race and she has slept the sleep of the righteous while Marc took the night watch with Logan. The baby sort of sleeps through the night now, but not without some semi wakeful periods toward dawn, much like his grandmother this day.

My daughter picked out and paid for my new green shirt which says, "The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start." She felt that I needed more inspiration, but no matter how much she talks, she just cannot make me into a born again runner like herself. Always I sense her frustration that she cannot make me love what she loves.

The temperature is just above freezing as we walk briskly down the shady side of broad street looking for our wave. Because of me we are much further back, but she insists that we run together. I tell her I will do it even if she goes on, but she does not trust me. The wave surges forward finally, slowly at first, but I soon settle into a pace that suits me. It is not the pace that suits my almost 29 year old daughter who, regardless of giving birth 9 weeks ago, is at the peak of fitness. Once she holds my hand and pulls me forward, but very soon she hears me gasping for breath and lets go. I am sorry to say that I complain. I need to pee, I am thirsty, I did not have enough breakfast, and the one that makes her furious, I tell her that I do not like running, again. She complains too but about me. I am not running fast enough, I do not breath correctly, and when I beg to slow down to a walk for a few minutes, I really do not walk fast enough.

I did run non stop until mile 2, mostly looking for a porta-potty and the volunteers handing out water and power aide. I spy cheerful wavers and move over to the side, desperate for liquid. So help me God they are handing out purple chrysanthemums!  The f-word comes to my lips but I do not verbalize it. Obviously this group has never done a run and has not a clue what runners need. You cannot eat or drink a flower and trying to hand one to a thirsty runner is tantamount to throwing rocks. Next block is the "Sinners Repent" sign. The dowdy overweight woman hoisting it stands grim faced and determined, just the sort of person Jesus is looking for to advertise the joys of heaven. I almost smile, but the girl is turning back to look at me again, gesturing me forward.

We approach the mid race marker and I sprint with her to trip the bar. We turn the corner on Monument, me taking the inside with all the lazy people, her flying by on the outer edge. I wonder how she stays on her feet while constantly looking behind her for me? She runs in place waiting for me to catch up and starts on her pep talk again. "Think of all the reasons why you are doing this?" My immediate and forceful answer is,
"There is only one reason. Because I love you and you want me to." She argues,
"No, you want to stay fit, lose weight, feel better."
Of course she is naming her reasons, not mine.

At mile 4 she has had enough of me, or perhaps she knows that I now have to finish because she has the keys to the car which is waiting at the end. She is cold, both of us having long ago tossed our ratty old hoodies that we had selected with discard-ability in mind. I am warm as toast and need to slow down again. She charges off and is lost in the crowd in seconds. I am relieved and slow for a bit, grab more power aide and stop at another porti potty. This one has a man inside with the door unlocked. He makes no apology for not taking the time to slide the bar to occupied. As he rushes out he advises me not to go in there because it is disgusting. I tell him not as much as wetting my pants and proceed. I am fairly sure the disgusting part he meant was him peeing all over the seat when I opened the door unexpectedly. I hover, use the hand sanitizer, and leave. After that I begin to run my race.

My first real smile of the day comes when I see the Buddhist doing yoga poses in beautiful gold and red costumes, one with a dragon head. They are standing like statues and chanting. I feel the peace like a warm wind blowing across me. I run and I keep on running. It is not as fast as the girl goes, but it is steady for the rest of the race. I pass again by the hell fire and damnation prophet, only this time I laugh out loud. She might have gotten my attention if she had said hell was a marathon that did not end. They never think of the real motivators. The flower children are out of stock but they all walk around cheering sporting pink fairy wings. A person passes me wearing a can costume. I cannot see his face and wonder how he is navigating. A chicken goes by with a "why do I cross the road" sign. Suddenly I realize that I am actually having a bit of fun even though my knee hurts and my right foot is beginning to feel numb.

I can see the finish line. Like the rest of them I push for it, knowing after that I can stop. My foot hits the orange line with determination. It's over. I am not a convert to Buddhism, Christianity, or Running, but a little part of me feels some pride that I did it. The kids have waited for me in the park and we mill about with no plan for a bit. Suddenly I spy them, Girl Scouts--with cookies! I rush forward.
"Thin Mints!" I declare. A sweet little blond in uniform says to me,
"Well, we're out of thin mints, but we have all the other kinds. Why not try these? They are as good as thin mints." Her smile and the obvious lie is almost enough to make me relent, but no. It's thin mints or nothing, so nothing it is. I have been saved from the cookie trap. The walk to the car was another two miles and when I finally sat down I was wishing I had gone for the empty calories.
"Well," says I, as we pull off, "You know, I just realized. I don't have to go to the gym today."
"But tomorrow you do," says the girl, "Because we have to start training for that Mother's Day race."
Sigh.  I don't even bother to whimper, not even a little.