I'm a Racist! Oh wait, I mean Racer.

I like running races.

Bla bla, see past posts about it, but I never liked running before.  I fell in with the wrong crowd (meaning, someone generously invited me to join a running group) sometime in 2012 and suddenly found myself pounding out a respectable 10K finish during the Air Force Marathon weekend at Wright-Patterson AFB.

Running was a social outlet (yay, FRIENDS!), an escape from my often-cranky baby (though only sometimes, with the incorporation of the jogging stroller), and a way to not feel like a big fat slob.  But mostly a social outlet, and covering 2, 3 and eventually 9 and 10 miles at dark-thirty of the morning became somewhat of an addiction.

(But, but... I can stop anytime!  Sadly, seriously.  Sometimes the bed feels oh-so-good... and the run gets ignored. But it ALWAYS feels better to go.)

Races make you pay money to do what you enjoy doing with friends for free, but friends don't (usually) give you a medal and a t-shirt, or better yet, a tech shirt and a hat.  Sometimes friends DO give you these things, but that's over wine at a clothing swap and I'll address that marvelous concept in another post later.

I've hit the point where I don't see myself extending my mileage much further past the good ol' half marathon (13.1 miles, or 21.8 kilometers for you metric weirdos), because honestly I've yet to RUN a complete half marathon.  In my 100% experience of having done two whole halves, things go pretty well until mile 10 and then it's all over but the cryin'. Spreading a race into less-formidable chunks is an option, and looking at it as two 10Ks works in theory, but it's much more honest to recognize that I run three 5Ks with a break between each and then walk one and a half more.

My two half marathon finishing photos capture me looking like I'm not even moving.  "Look at that girl, doing the robot in the finish line, while people run around her!  Tell her to move, she's in the way!" What was that all about?  I was very cognizant of the fact that I was most certainly moving, and HAD been moving more than my body had ever propelled itself forward before.  Yet the finish photo suggests that movement being more towards unconsciousness and injury.  My photos suggest I am naught but an obstacle, or a fire hazard.  And more than just because my thighs are rubbing together at a dangerous frequency...

So this year, I have already signed up for two half marathons.  One, the Air Force Half Marathon (again), because it's local and between the 10K and the Half, it's the only time to see about 50% of our running group in one place.  (Yes, that same running group I was once amazed to be invited to join, and now co-admin. Yay me for channeling my enthusiasm positively, eh?)  And then, because I like the concept of running across bridges, the Detroit Free Press Half Marathon International Leg, which runs across the ever-epic Ambassador Bridge into Canada, through a Windsor residential neighborhood along the Detroit River waterfront, and back into downtown Detroit via the Windsor Tunnel.  I am scared to DRIVE through the Windsor Tunnel, so hopefully it will not be too terrifying to run through that drippy mess.  I usually hit my stride around miles 5-6, so that bodes well for being able to zip through that potential death trap in less than 11:20.

11:20?  That's my best mile, officially, of the year.  I was hungover and it was hotter than hell, aptly, at St. Peter's Tiger Trot.  I probably achieved that time, despite hills, because I refused to let this very collegiate-looking blonde chick (she had a sorority tank top on, COME ON!) beat me.  We raced to that finish line like a keg was depending on it. Finally I beat her lithe ass, only to later congratulate her and hear "yeah, this was, like, my first time runnaaaaang, ahmigawd, it's so fun!"  ARRRGGGGH!  But a win is a win, and Mama won.

So while Mama ain't runnin' any full marathons this side of 2030, she is going to keep fighting the good 13.1 mile fight, and see if we can't get down towards, dare I say a 2:30? 2:15?  It's achievable.  I'm enjoying the ownership of a brand new piece-of-crap treadmill (thanks a LOT, NordicTrac!!), reading Train Like a Mother, and I've spent enough money in race registrations over the past 48 hours to realize this is a hobby to which I really must attend.

In 2014, the goal is to look like I'm moving in the finish photos.  Yeah baby!