This is, without a doubt, the most horrific, cheesy photo of me that exists on the internets. In my defense, I was very tired, and when the manipulative race photographer said, "Arms up in the air!" I was in no fit condition to argue with him. And then Sweet Husband was very tired and we didn't get any other pictures later....so, unfortunately, this is all I've got.
With that out of the way, I'll begin at the beginning.
Sometime last June, Sweet Husband was feeling badly that he'd never really been able to resume running since we had the Kiddo. To cheer him up, I wildly suggested, "Let's run a half-marathon--we'll do it together." Even as I was saying it, I never thought it would really happen. I couldn't run a mile without stopping to walk. It was super hot, even in the mornings. Also, I like to sleep. I like to sleep a lot. Marathons--even marathons with the word "half" in front--were not for me.
Except that Saturday, I ran a half-marathon. Two hours and forty-nine minutes. I finished and did not finish last, which were my only goals. I can't remember which miles were run in the pouring rain--I think the first two were dry, I know the last one was....beyond that it was a lot of wet.
Today my knees are a little achy, but on the whole I feel pretty invincible. If you had told me in June how quickly running would become a lifestyle, I would have raised my eyebrows skeptically and chuckled at you.
But it's true. Taking a morning off feels a bit like forgetting to brush my teeth--a little icky and fuzzy for the rest of the day. I'm into a jean size I haven't seen since college. I'm learning that my body gets mad if I don't have protein early in the day. It's a whole new wild world over here.
And I would be remiss if I didn't--all big and public-like--say thanks to my Sweet Husband. I know there were a lot of days when I was a whiny, angry running buddy, but I love you for dragging my ass out the door anyway. All that being said, let's pick a nice, sunny day for the next race, OK?