I hate running

Mr.President's attempt at getting a pic of me crossing the finish line, note I am nowhere in this photo

Seems like a tad bit of a negative way to start this post – but bear with me.

This weekend was a whirlwind and went by in a blink. I had Friday off from work (my work does Flex time so we get every other Friday off – fabulous perk of my job) and spent the day running errands and praying my foot started feeling better. I went for a long run on Wednesday around work (to make a last ditch effort to “train” for the Army 10 Miler) and in the course of the run I felt my foot twist and land a bit funny but didn’t think anything of it until….Thursday morning when it hurt to put pressure on my foot. By Friday morning it was still hurting and I was beginning to seriously doubt my ability to run 10 miles on my bum foot…but I decided I mine as well pick up my race packet just in case…at this point I was hating running.

Saturday morning I woke up and my foot was still aching. I tried stretching, taking some aspirin, putting ice on it (and by ice I mean the bag of frozen strawberries meant for my smoothies!)…but nothing was helping. I consulted with Mr. President (the avid runner) on whether or not I should run even though I already knew the answer….he would say “You will regret it if you don’t run. You never know if you can do it if you don’t at least try. There are going to be people running the race with only one leg”…etc. I decided that after my “pep” talk from Mr. President I would think it over and decide later that day.

So off we went to the Shirlington Oktoberfest to meet up with a bunch of friends. It was an absolutely gorgeous day here – not a cloud in the sky and it was a high of about 76 – perfect day for outdoor drinking. By the time we got there I had convinced myself I was not going to run in the race and would instead indulge in some yummy pumpkin ale instead. We bought our wrist bands and hopped in line. By my third pumpkin ale, which was 9% alcohol I was feeling tipsy, or well tipsy with guilt. I immediately started to feel my guilt and regret bubbling up and decided to hand over my glass and start chugging water. We left the Oktoberfest and headed to dinner where I continued my chugging water and carb loading (giant soft pretzels and pasta please!).

Girls at the Oktoberfest

When we finally got home around 9:30 on Saturday night I was still not sure I was going to be able to run the full 10 miles…but I knew I would be sick with regret if I didn’t at least try.

My alarm went off and I jumped out of bed – feel energized and ready to go. Mr. President did not sign up in time to do the race, so luckily one of my girlfriends was going to run with me. We got up to the start line and immediately I had butterflies in my stomach. I honestly didn’t know if I was going to make it past the first mile – not only did I have a bum foot, but I didn’t adequately train for the race, and on top of all of that I drank the day before. I was so grateful to have my girlfriend next to me because if she wasn’t there, I might’ve tried to run back the other way and give up.

The thing about the Army Ten Miler is that from the moment you step onto the course you are surrounded by inspiration whether it be the announcer yelling HOOAH! every five minutes, or the t-shirts with sweet pictures of those we lost, or the brave runners battling with one leg…you know that there is no way you could quit.

Once the start gun went off, I was feeling good – my foot hurt a bit, but I was easily distracted by worrying about how fast I was going and making sure I didn’t run into the person in front of me. By mile 5 I was feeling really good and knew I was going to able to finish. At mile 8 is when I started thinking to myself – I don’t hate running…not at all actually. I loved every moment of that race. I loved the adrenaline rush and seeing all the spectators out there so early in the morning cheering us on…and that is when it hit me. I don’t hate running at all, I love running. Hearing all the spectators yell “Go Runners! You got in Runners! Only 2 more miles to go!” was when it finally clicked for me. The reason I have “hated” running so much is that I never really thought of myself as a runner. I was always just struggling to get through the run and be done…I have never thought of myself as a runner until that moment hearing the word runners being yelled. I am a runner and I am enjoying this run!

After crossing the finish line the first thought that popped into my head (aside from where in the world are those bagels and bananas everyone keeps talking about) was I am going to need to go find that boy of mine and give him a big hug and thank him for pushing me to do this race. When I was doubting myself he was there to encourage me and push me. I am so thankful I had him to push me and remind me why I signed up for the race in the first place. I end up finishing the 10 miles in an 1:23 with an 8:23 mile pace.

Moral of the story – I don’t hate running, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all!