Race for your life

This weekend, I did something either incredibly brave and motivating, or incredibly stupid. I'm leaning towards the latter. Matt and I are officially registered to run the Peachtree Road Race again this Fourth of July.

We ran it for the first time last year. It was my New Year's resolution, and something I've always wanted to do. For years I watched my dad come home exhausted but exhilarated, proudly wearing his t-shirt, but it was never something I wanted to try. Who needs to get up at an ungodly hour just to sweat it out in the mid-summer heat? Besides, thanks to my exercise-induced asthma, running is on my list of least favorite activities, right up there with bug-slaying and camping without accessible toilets.

Still, run it I did. We all started together, the three of us. Matt stuck around for a mile or two before an encouraging "I'll meet you at the end". My dad kept me company through Cardiac Hill until I graciously waved him on ahead as I slowed to a (brisk?) walk. I stopped caring about the snotty twelve-year-olds blithely trotting past me or the couples with enough extra oxygen to carry on full-on political discussions as they ran by. I soldiered on until about mile five, when it suddenly occurred to me that something wasn't right. Something was different. Come to find out the next day, I was pregnant! But at the time, not knowing, I merely trudged on, eyes burning for the finish line. Which is way further down the road than you think it's going to be, by the way. Still, I got that t-shirt. I earned it.

And now, like an idiot, I'm doing it again. I still don't like running. It's still going to be blazing hot. Although I better not be pregnant this time. But the biggest hurdle is, I don't know how I'm going to train. Last year, I only managed to finish on two feet because I spent four months gradually building up my endurance on a treadmill three times a week. Now I have no treadmill. Plus I have a baby. So we'll see what happens. Wish me luck!