Turkey Trot

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not athletic. I was the kid who barely passed gym. My poor father, who loves most sports, was saddled with daughters who had limited physical ability. I remember one cool rainy morning he took my younger sister and me to the basketball court to teach us to play hoops. We were terrible.

My husband is also athletic. He likes most sports, primarily ones that test endurance. As a member of the armed forces he is required to be at least moderately fit. But he actually enjoys it. He likes the early mornings and running and pushing himself physically. These are feelings I simply don’t relate to. This is why it is absurd that I decided to participate in the Turkey Trot 5k.

Seriously wasn't even tired after chasing Little Man everywhere before the run.

Now, my dislike for sports doesn’t mean that I don’t work out. I do. I have always liked dance and used to perform so that is how I stay healthy. I have videos and shake what my mamma gave me 4 to 5 days a week and hour each time. But for some reason I thought the 5k would be fun. I figured if I walked rather than run the 3.1 miles all would be fine.

We woke up at the same time we always do, 5:30 am. This is when my 3 year old alarm clock usually goes off; we still can’t figure out how to set the snooze on him. I dressed for the brisk 40 degree weather and we set out for the location. I agreed to walk over to the starting line mostly because I thought it was closer to where we actually live. I was wrong. It was roughly a half mile away. But I was feeling fine pushing our double stroller along, affectingly called Strollersaurus Rex, with Baby Girl sipping her milk and Little Man running alongside his daddy. We arrived at the tent with plenty of time to spare before the start of the run. The kids played while I was introduced to a couple of my husband’s co-workers. And then I found a spot at the back of the group waiting for the start to be called.

Drinking hot cider before the run. Clearly I'm a pro at this.

Going into this morning I knew that I would be moving slower than many of the others. I have never pretended for a single moment that I am a runner so I planned on walking. Not to mention that I was pushing about 70 lbs the whole way. They called start, the crowd moved forward and for a split second I thought I can do it! And then I started getting passed. By everyone. Seriously, little kids were passing me. If you’ve ever been non-athletic you might remember that feeling of dread when you realize you wouldn’t be picked for a team or that when you tried to play flag football you would truly suck. That’s the feeling that washed over me. I honestly thought of turning around and grabbing some yummy apple cider they had at the tent instead of continuing.

Superfluous Mt. Fuji picture. Our view during the run.

But I didn’t. I walked. And then I met another mom also walking with a stroller containing her 8 month old daughter. So, we walked together and chatted the whole way. We were passed by the runners coming back from the half way point. We were passed by both of our husbands. By the time we were three quarters finished both of our guy’s had turned around and joined us for the last leg. I finished in 50 minutes and 20 seconds, give or take. I was almost last (we had passed a group of kids). I was tired, my shoulders and arms were sore from pushing Baby Girl and Little Man, my hips hurt a little but I did it.

I don’t think I will be doing another 5k. Outside of meeting a few new people I didn’t really enjoy myself; didn’t feel that fabled runners high. What I felt was lame for taking so long but it was quickly dashed when the group we met started cheering me on as I approached.

 

After the run. Clearly some of us didn't want to be photographed. 

I am proud that my children were there to see me accomplish something outside of my comfort zone. I was happy to show them that it’s ok to feel uncomfortable and scared sometimes as long as you try your best. And then after you try, you can be rewarded with pancakes. Hey, a girl’s gotta eat.