Running with Color

Last winter Alex and I decided we would run a 5k together after she graduated college. It was something to keep us motivated to work out. Admittedly, it was a psychological goal for me. When I turned 40, I began to talk myself down from exercising so much. "I'm getting too old to run! It's probably too hard on my joints!" Now, that I've just recently turned 50, I think differently. "I'm not too old to run! I better keep running while I still can!" So, it was on.

I registered us for the Omaha Color Run to be held the last weekend in July. The timing seemed perfect. Alex would need to be moved out of her apartment by then and was hopefully home for a few weeks before she began her real life with a job and all. And as it turned out, everything was unfolding just as planned.

Ready?

I was off work this last weekend in July. We moved Al home on Wednesday. It gave us a few days to do a little training together before our big weekend! I was excited. While I've been running (on and off) for nearly my entire adult life, I've never run in a race before. It's not something I had the confidence to do. My running friends are probably giggling at this, thinking "how cute... a 5k is hardly a race." And my family is probably thinking "when has she ever lacked confidence?" Well, I have my insecurities just like the rest of us. Especially when it comes to anything halfway athletic. Luckily, running takes very little hand-eye coordination. I've only wiped out a few times in my life.

Back to my Color Run story.

We were all set to go. The night before the run, our family went out to eat with my parents.  It was the perfect way to spend the night before a race: eating carbs and getting home early with mealtime beginning promptly at 6:30 PM.

When we got home, I glanced at the dining room table with a smile. Our gear was laid out: t-shirts, headbands, runner badges, tattoos... We'd need to arise early to get to DT Omaha before the 8:00 AM starting time. But I didn't care! I was ready to run!

Then I get a text from my friend Amy asking what we were doing tonight. I told her we had decided to turn in early because of the race. She asked where we were running since the Omaha Color Run had been that morning.

Wha????

Here's the thing about being on vacation: calendar days don't really mean much. When I received an email about the Color Run festivities beginning on Friday night (without paying attention to the actual date), I thought, "Wow! Some people make this an event for the whole weekend!"

I re-read Amy's text. She screenshot the information.

We had missed it.

My heart sank to my calloused feet. I was so bummed. My family laughed. I detected a hint of relief from Alex who wasn't thrilled to arise at the break of dawn. But I couldn't laugh. I didn't even care that I had wasted our registration fee. I just wanted to run in it.

So, we watched a dumb movie, and I tried not to pout – coaching myself that it really wasn't a big deal at all. I knew that it wasn't. But I was still kind of sad.

This morning I woke up at 7:30. The day I thought Alex and I would be getting sprayed by paint and laughing it up. I put the vision out of my head. Then I told my husband I was going to run a 5k. Today. Of course, he thought I was nuts, but he supported me anyway.

I put on my Color Run t-shirt. I applied my happy tattoos. (HAPP, actually. My Y didn't stick.) I pulled back my short hair with the cute tie-dyed headband. Doug dropped me off on the flattest highway around. And off I went.

Ready!

There was no party nor paint. The only music blaring was my playlist of 10,000 Maniacs and One Republic. It was actually... nice.

• Clouds created a shroud over the sun to prevent me from having heat stroke.
• I saw my first goldfinch of the summer.
• The leaves on the trees breezed about, as if to wave me on.
• I was hardly attacked by red-winged black birds.
• I saw my favorite purple wildflower. The color is so brilliant and neon-ish, it looks like a cartoon sketch.
• Two geese glided around the sky without shitting on me, and their companionship reminded me how lucky I am to have my spouse.
• I met the eyes of a beautiful, young deer who crossed my path, encouraging me to keep up my pace.

Finally, I approached our town with its grand steeple. I received that all important notification from my watch: 3 miles. I ran a little farther. Then I looked again: 3.12 miles. Just a fuzz past a 5k.
                                       I had crossed the finish line! 

Right on cue, my hubby pulled on to the corner of the Highway 191 in my support vehicle – with a water for me in tow. (Isn't he the best?) We rode back on the mule with the wind drying off my sweat as I showed Doug the awful pics I took on my jog. He asked if I was still disappointed about missing the event. I really wasn't. Adrenaline erases negativity. And I'm certain my scenery was more beautiful than DT Omaha. 

As it turned out, it was the best color run I ever missed.

Now that's color.

Look closely. A deer. A steeple.

Embrace the Hills

Everyone said it. But deep down, I thought, not me though.

Ha Ha.

So the time had come when 'soft' wanted to make its presence known. Tummy. Triceps. Muffin tops. Yesterday, I'm like twenty-something, fallaciously worried about my weight. Then I wake up and I'm in my forties! And it did happened. I couldn't just walk twenty minutes and burn off the ice cream I ate last night. It was gonna take decidedly more effort...heart-pumping exercise and focused diet restraints. (It's no wonder all my friends are running marathons these days. It's not because they want to–it's because they HAVE to.)

Percy ponders the first hill.

I actually used to jog. Then we moved to the country with all these freaking hills, so I stopped. It was simply too hard. But now that I'm starting to appear like I'm in my first trimester (despite the hysterectomy), I determined to boost my workout by jogging. And tackle those freaking hills. And they are not just hills. They are freaking hills.

At first the inclines nearly killed me. Admittedly, I needed to stop a few times. But now, I'm proud to say, I can run the two miles non-stop. (Hey, no judging. Two miles is an awesome feat for me! I'm thinking of getting a bumper sticker that says "2 Miles.") And what's more? I embrace those hills. I go faster on those hills than any other part of the run.

Another part of my jog that was once an annoyance has now become a pleasing ritual. Mud stomping. Navigating mush feels a bit adventurous to this banker girl as she plows through some of the dirty parts of our country roads. I no longer care about the grit that sticks to my shoes. It's just wet dirt. It comes off. Wow. Isn't running the most awesome metaphor for life? Embracing hills! Tackling the mud!

I've been quite proud of my increased workout efforts lately. And I thought it timely, since I believe my son needed to re-focus his workout efforts with his current hiatus from soccer. Knowing his competitive spirit, I kept badgering him to a challenge.

"Come on! Just to the highway and back."

He was reluctant. Obviously, he knew I could beat him. One day, even though he tried to plead exhaustion, he agreed to a race. It was on.

Before we began the race, I coached him a bit–explaining he probably would need to pace himself.

"You might feel like starting fast. But trust me. These hills are killers."

 He nodded in a respectable deference.

So we took off. He began at my pace. Then after a short distance, he muttered, "This is way too slow." Then he darted away. And even though I calculated an eventual fade, it never happened. Nope.

The kid slaughtered me.

I'm still trying to find the life lesson here. Perhaps it's that...kids are, well, young. Dammit.

Twelve is a far cry from 44. And that baby got track.

Winner of the 2M Kramer Run.