(More than) Fourinarow.net

A few years ago, I remember talking on the phone with my good friend Troy, while I was driving to pick up the kids from school (I know, I know).  In front of me was a car, and it had a white, round sticker (like those European ones) on the back with 26.2 written in black.  “What does that mean, anyway?” I asked Troy.  “26.2 can’t be a radio station…”

“It’s a marathon,” she told me.

OH.

Well, how was I supposed to know?  I wasn’t a runner, and athlete, of any kind.  The most I did was try to kill myself in Wendy’s power lift class at the Y, or mosey along for a while on the eliptical.   (I’ll be honest:  I needed the free daycare more than I cared about any workout.)  At some point my friend Kristina (who had run a marathon!) suggested we run a race of some kind.  I don’t really remember what it was… maybe the zoo 5K?  I entertained the idea for a couple of days before deciding getting pregnant (again) would be less excruciating.

Pregnant.  A great excuse to be a sloth.

So as to keep this novel short(er), I’ll fast-forward a few years to a different city, another baby, and more sloth.

This city?  Runners.  EVERYWHERE.  It’s what people do here.  (Weird, I know.)

Dan joined the local running club (he’s always been a runner) and last year ran his first half-marathon.  I was impressed, but not so impressed that I was going to brave the elements and the children to cheer him on or anything.  (Yes, yes.  Wife of the year here.)

Several of the moms I’m friends with are also runners.  They’d pull up in their vans with their 13.1 stickers and then chat in the parking lot about their running and their races.  “You should join us!” They’d tell me.  “We run at 5:30, before anyone is up.” 

?!?

I was starting to think I needed other friends.  I mean, who the hell gets up at o’dark thirty to RUN?

Then, around Christmastime, Dan and I went to a running club Christmas party.  I was a fish out of water, but it was at my friend Anne’s house (one of the 5:30 a.m. crazies), and I liked having an excuse to get a babysitter and get out of the house for a few hours with Dan.  Plus, despite what you might think, runners like beer.

During the party, Anne and I snuck off to chat and somewhere in that chat was mention of The Shamrock Shuffle.  An 8K race in downtown Chicago.  “There are a bunch of us doing it,” she told me.  “You should do it, too.  It’s really fun.”

Well, I must have been over-served that night, ’cause I actually gave it a three-second thought.  And then, of course, dismissed it.

But, every time I saw one of these crazies ladies, they’d mention the race and what fun it was going to be.  They were sure I could do it.  They could give me a training program.  I should just try.  No one would care if I just walked.  Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.

Well, one night I was drinking a beer with Dan and talking about it with him.  I looked the race up on the web and checked out the registration information.  “Do it,” he told me.  “Sign up!”

And, I caved.  I figured I could try the training and if I hated it, I’d just back out of the race.

But, I didn’t back out.  I trained by myself on a treadmill (this Texas chick hates the cold), at a reasonable hour of the morning (this chick also loves sleeping), at the Y (every treadmill has a TV).  And, before I knew it, there were a bunch of us headed to the city at o’dark thirty, to run some crazy race.

It was a BLAST.

After that race, I kept running.  But, instead of on the treadmill, I ran with the crazies, VERY early in the morning, cold or not.  And that’s where they really got me.

“You should run the half with us,” they said.

“Hahahahahahahahaha,” I said.

“No, really.  We did it last year and we’re going to do it again this year.  It’s really not that hard.”

Something must happen to your brain when you run, because eventually, I found myself saying yes.  Me.  Running 13.1 miles.  When, in March I’d run the first mile I’d run in… 10 years?

As far as training, I ran when my friends did, as far as they did.  I listened to their tips on running, stretching, reading and eating.

And then, suddenly, it was time for the Chicago Half Marathon.

I was looking forward to it, not so much for the race (which had me nervous) but for the fancy accommodations and girl-time.  Becky (the other crazy)’s cousin has a fancy condo in a downtown high-rise and was letting us have it for the night before the race.  So, on Saturday, we left the kids with the hubbies and drove to the city.  We visited the expo, where we picked up our race packets and bought some “must-have” paraphernalia, and then lounged around the condo waiting for the rest of our group to join us.  (There were 6 of us.)  Once they arrived, we all made dinner, enjoyed a glass of wine, indulged in cake pops and cookies, and watched a movie.

View from the kick-ass accommodations

Mmmmmm. Cake pops!

We were up at 4 the next morning and on the train, headed for the race, by 5:30.

It was GREAT.  So many people, so much energy.  Music, signs, team shirts…

The race started at 7, and for me, it was all over 2 hours, 19 minutes and 15 seconds later.

Me.  The non-runner.  The non-early riser.

I think I have a new addiction.  Already, I’m signed up for a 10K in October, a 15K in November, and my favorite, another half marathon in December.

That half will be in Dallas, where my best friends from high school are getting together to run, walk or cheer.  It’ll be a great run, but a better reunion!  Michelle (one of the group) is currently recovering from extensive surgery, but will be out running and training again soon.  Running that half will be a huge victory.

Crazy.

It looks good, don’tcha think?