Glutton for Punishment

Though I have never experienced childbirth, I think I can safely say that running a half marathon is the closest thing I have experienced to pushing a human out of my lady parts. I recall hearing my friends proclaim things like "Never again!" and "much worse than I expected!" after the birth of their first children. Then, as the years pass, and the kids get cuter and cuter, I get the news that they are on board for baby #2! Now, as a casual bystander with no kids of our own, all I have to go on is our last conversation regarding how horrific the pushing, tearing, and subsequent stitching up all was. I guess a chubby cuddly baby softens the blow and the memory a bit, because in the absence of that, I cannot believe that they would revisit that experience.



I had a similar experience in April 2004 (or was it 2005?). Rick and I, in an effort to spend time together, had started running. Because I wanted to show that I could do everything that he could do, we signed up for the Music City Half Marathon. I admit, I thought I was ready. I remember getting to around mile 10 and feeling like my calf muscles were going to spontaneously separate from my body, along with my lungs and my heart. I made promises to sweet baby Jesus that if he got me through this, I wouldn't ever put myself in this predicament again. I recall the drive back from Nashville with my legs propped up straight in front of me, because it just hurt too much to bend them (Rick was a little better off, so he drove home). I walked like a prisoner that had a hard time holding the soap for about 4 days. It was not pretty.



Fast forward 4-5 years. My memory had softened and all I remembered about Music City was the feeling of triumph after having completed a difficult task, the bonding I felt to Rick and my brother, who was there to cheer us on. It wasn't until around mile 9 yesterday that a bunch of other memories came flooding back to me, resulting in instant panic. The rumblings of pain in my lower back, achy feet, sore knees and some dicey gastro sensations all resulted in some quick mental math and the knowledge that I still had 4 miles to go. Crap. After about 3.5 miles of internal swearing and self-loathing, I finally got myself together to snap out of it and appreciate the experience of the finish line. I realized that it was finally over with, that it was a beautiful day and that I got to run the race with the man I love. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all.