My daughter, sister and I ran in the Polar Bear 5K this weekend in Portland, Maine. Not as cold as it could have been—just a semi-chilly, beautiful sunny winter day.
I started the race with high hopes. My goal being to break a 40 minute pace. It started out promising- downhill. I do so love running downhill. The race wound around onto flat ground and then by the Portland waterfront. Very beautiful to look at.
Not so great to smell.
The race went right by Portland’s sewer treatment plant. ‘Nuf said.
It was still flat for quite a while and I felt like I had a good pace going. Not a whole lot of stopping. A little bit of fast walking. And no swearing .
Until the hill came into view. A winding, hairpin, straight up into the air hill. Oh. My. Gawd. Well, I guess what goes down must go up, right? So up I went along with the rest of the stragglers. You know, that group of runners that finishes so far behind the rest of the pack that people cheer them wildly just for their effort? I am officially in that group. But I embrace the slowness.
But not the Feaster-Five slowness. As the finish line came into view, my sister was standing there pointing at the clock, ticking away 38:29. I was so excited I almost lost my iPod as my arms flew up in the air in a geeky-cheer wave.
Yeah for progress.
This is my daughter, sister and me at the end of the race.
After burning hundreds of calories. And just before we hit IHOP.