I wish I were. I have always wondered if there had been sports for girls in Blytheville when I grew up, could I have been involved in something--anything-- besides band and cheerleading? And of course Rockie Smith Dancers--can't forget that. Twice a week might have been more fun if I hadn't been so scared and intimidated by my teacher. For 10 years I dreaded going to dance.....doesn't make for a good childhood memory, really.
Anyway, I have tried to keep healthy as an adult in various ways: aerobics in my 30s, tennis in my 40s and hiking in my 50s. By the time I hit 60, it came down to walking...and I'm not knocking walking but it had become boring. So I decided to set a goal in January: a half marathon in April. Dash for Dad was for a good cause:prostate cancer, and the date would give me plenty of time to train. Leah told me about a training app called WallJogRun that would give me exercise routes, timing, and a routine personalized for me. So I began in earnest. But around March, I hurt my back gardening and slowed down the walking. I still went to exercise, but I completely quit the walk routine. So when the race was this past weekend, Clark, who was all in with me, wanted to know if we were going to do it. And I decided to pick up our packets and with all the excitement of everybody talking about it at the pick-up point, I knew I had to try. Oh, and when it came my turn to receive my packet, the young man said," 5 K?" And I was so proud to say, "No, half marathon please." I showed him.
Saturday morning arrived. We got up at 6:00 in time to eat breakfast and get to the race in plenty of time. The first words out of my mouth were, "Let's don't go." And Clark told me after we looked at the race route that we could hang a right after 3 miles and walk home. It was a mere half mile from the route to home at that point. So we dressed, put on our numbers, ate and got to the race early enough to get the lay of the land. I have never been in a race before, and the excitement was infectious. I am going to go out on a limb here and say that I saw very few people our age with the half mar numbers on. There were plenty of people in our age group with the 5-K tags. And I started rethinking again. And then Clark reminded me we could get off the route whenever we wanted. No shame in that. But for me--there was. So when the starting gun went off, and we jogged out and the youngins were passing us like a Corvette vs. a Volkswagon bus, I knew I was in for the long haul. It did not matter if I finished last, ( which mortified Clark by the way) I was finishing this damn thing.
By the time we hit mile 6, we were fine. Even mile 9 was OK. But something happened at mile 10. We were over 2 hours walking, lagging behind and barely ahead of the last group of folks. The self talk kicked in: "You are too old to be doing this--what were you thinking?" / "You have to finish--it's a matter of pride"/"Who cares if you finish or not, you don't know a single person in this race and they are all at home drinking gatorade by now anyway"/ "Just 3 more miles"/"You've come this far, don't quit now"/"This sucks, I'm going to die"
Clark told me that I was like a woman in labor hitting transition, and it's funny that he said that because it was a similar feeling. I didn't want to talk anymore, I didn't want to look at anything but the route ahead, and I didn't want him to touch me or ask how I was. I just wanted it to be over. And I wanted to quit---big time-- but I just couldn't. And when our names were announced over the PA as we crossed the finish line hand in hand, nobody knew us and nobody cared about some old codgers who didn't even run. But I did.
Anyway, I have tried to keep healthy as an adult in various ways: aerobics in my 30s, tennis in my 40s and hiking in my 50s. By the time I hit 60, it came down to walking...and I'm not knocking walking but it had become boring. So I decided to set a goal in January: a half marathon in April. Dash for Dad was for a good cause:prostate cancer, and the date would give me plenty of time to train. Leah told me about a training app called WallJogRun that would give me exercise routes, timing, and a routine personalized for me. So I began in earnest. But around March, I hurt my back gardening and slowed down the walking. I still went to exercise, but I completely quit the walk routine. So when the race was this past weekend, Clark, who was all in with me, wanted to know if we were going to do it. And I decided to pick up our packets and with all the excitement of everybody talking about it at the pick-up point, I knew I had to try. Oh, and when it came my turn to receive my packet, the young man said," 5 K?" And I was so proud to say, "No, half marathon please." I showed him.
Saturday morning arrived. We got up at 6:00 in time to eat breakfast and get to the race in plenty of time. The first words out of my mouth were, "Let's don't go." And Clark told me after we looked at the race route that we could hang a right after 3 miles and walk home. It was a mere half mile from the route to home at that point. So we dressed, put on our numbers, ate and got to the race early enough to get the lay of the land. I have never been in a race before, and the excitement was infectious. I am going to go out on a limb here and say that I saw very few people our age with the half mar numbers on. There were plenty of people in our age group with the 5-K tags. And I started rethinking again. And then Clark reminded me we could get off the route whenever we wanted. No shame in that. But for me--there was. So when the starting gun went off, and we jogged out and the youngins were passing us like a Corvette vs. a Volkswagon bus, I knew I was in for the long haul. It did not matter if I finished last, ( which mortified Clark by the way) I was finishing this damn thing.
By the time we hit mile 6, we were fine. Even mile 9 was OK. But something happened at mile 10. We were over 2 hours walking, lagging behind and barely ahead of the last group of folks. The self talk kicked in: "You are too old to be doing this--what were you thinking?" / "You have to finish--it's a matter of pride"/"Who cares if you finish or not, you don't know a single person in this race and they are all at home drinking gatorade by now anyway"/ "Just 3 more miles"/"You've come this far, don't quit now"/"This sucks, I'm going to die"
Clark told me that I was like a woman in labor hitting transition, and it's funny that he said that because it was a similar feeling. I didn't want to talk anymore, I didn't want to look at anything but the route ahead, and I didn't want him to touch me or ask how I was. I just wanted it to be over. And I wanted to quit---big time-- but I just couldn't. And when our names were announced over the PA as we crossed the finish line hand in hand, nobody knew us and nobody cared about some old codgers who didn't even run. But I did.
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| Pitiful attempt at a smile |
