A Mom, Her Son, and the Approaching 5K

Pretty, but this picture doesn't do justice to the INCLINE of this run, just beyond the curve. The gym's treadmill doesn't even register this high. Seriously.

It’s a week and a day till the 5K and I’ve made some progress. Mainly
in recruiting my son to join me. He’s none too pleased, but he owes me.
I’ve cheered him on in his various endeavors since he was four, and now my misery needs company.

My daughter gets to skip the madness. She has a soccer game, and even more importantly, team pictures immediately following it. It’s fine by  me—she’s a fast little bugger, and upon further contemplation, I think I
would have had difficulties keeping up with her. I’m more confident that my one-speed son will be a better pace-setter for me.

My husband, who has the nerve to call me prickly at times, dared to
ask me about my training regimen last week. My defenses were up as he’s managed to run two miles every-other day since I’ve known him. I told him things had stalled. I reminded him I’d gotten food poisoning on Easter and took days to recover.

“Before that. How was it going?”

“Well, you know, my knees really started acting up on me when I ran that week.”

“What week?”

“That first week.”

“You haven’t run since?”

“I listen to my knees.”

That’s when he uttered one of his favorite BUSINESS sayings, “When you’re explaining, you’re losing” and I got all prickly and perhaps closed a door a bit too forcefully. And opened it again and reminded him that it’s a FUN WALK/RUN and not a race that I’m being timed in, so I’m not worried about losing anyway. Whatever. Did I mention I signed my son up?

So, this week, with my knees sufficiently recovered from my brief training five weeks ago and my stomach recovered from some bad shrimp at Easter, I’ve been hitting the pavement again. I can happily report that my legs now outlast my lungs, but barely.

If the course is all down-hill, I’ll be fine. If it’s all flat, I’ll be in trouble after, oh, I can’t say exactly, but I estimate it’ll be early on. If it’s anything like the terrain I’ve been running, it’ll be an ugly, ugly morning. But that’s why I’ll have my son. Cause if my friend blows past me (and I suspect she will—she’s been training like mad and can run for a solid 10 minutes without a break), I’ve got my dear 10-year-old son for whom I must honorably slow my pace.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.