The Cowtown Half-Marathon

Before I get to the race, the most important stuff first:

I simply do not have the words to describe the feeling of visiting the home of your best friend since kindergarten, walking into her living room, and seeing all of your children piled up on the floor, on couches and chairs, watching a movie together.

Or the six of you sitting together at her kitchen table, eating supper together and laughing at a shared joke. Or when your son tells you that he and your best friend's son have exchanged Skype IDs and e-mail addresses so they can visit online.

There's no way I could have imagined the joy that I'd get out of something like that when Michele and I began our friendship a zillion years ago, but it's there. Oh, it's there.

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So...the Cowtown Half-Marathon in Fort Worth.

I feel like I finally got a race where everything was perfect for me:

     The weather could not have been better. Sunny and clear. A bit cold when we were waiting around for the race to begin, but once it started, I was so happy for the cold weather (and I even warmed up enough midway through the race that had I better abs or less shame, I would have taken off my shirt and finished in just a sports bra).

     The course was 100-percent beautiful. We wound through some parks, the famous Fort Worth Stockyards, and the amazing downtown area.

     The medal is probably my favorite of all my medals. There's just something about it (maybe the fact that it could be used as a weapon if necessary...):

     There were two shirts -- one participant and one finisher. I like that. For the cost of these larger races, two shirts are always welcome. (I got two at the White Rock Marathon; I just got one at the Rock N Roll.)

     Everyone I encountered, from the police officers working the event to the volunteers helping out to the runners to the spectators cheering us on, was so nice and helpful. On Saturday, when our sons were running the kids' 5K, Michele and I found ourselves a little lost and wandered up to a police officer. He helped us get back on track, and when we got a little lost again, another police officer helped us.

     Right before I crossed the finish line, a man dressed in a cow costume (complete with udders, of course) sped up and finished right before me. Yes, that's right: A man in a cow costume beat me.

The whole experience could not have been better. I'm seriously considering running it again next year.

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I finished in 2 hours, 13 minutes and 19 seconds. Not my best half-marathon time -- that was in The Gusher last year -- but still fair. I was 185th out of 518 woman in my age group. The average time for the half-marathon was 2 hours, 19 minutes and some-odd seconds, so I beat that, too. And, out of 6,870 runners in the half, I came in at No. 3,335.

I was anxious about my performance in this race. My training got messed up a bit with my bout with a lingering stomach bug. I still have some feelings of failure because of what happened at the San Antonio Rock N Roll Marathon. And I had my kids with me and traveling with kids always takes a little more out of you than normal.

But somehow I managed. Next race up is The Gusher Half-Marathon in two weeks!

I Know This Thing to Be True.

There is always a reason for a bad run. Always.

Sometimes, it's not tangible. It's not an ache in your calf or a cramp; sometimes it's that you're sad or confused or worried.

But trust me: There is always a reason.

As of yesterday, I needed 10 miles to reach my weekly goal of 40 miles. No big, really. I planned to run it Friday evening, as is my usual thing these days. Our Friday was a bit different than normal, because Kyle had a friend over to spend the night.

I ate a pimiento cheese sandwich and some chips, waited about 30 minutes and headed out...

to the worst run in the history of running.

I was having to put forth a ton of effort for not a lot of achievement. My plan for 10 miles went to 8 and then to 6. I'll just run tomorrow to put me at 40,  I thought.

I'll admit it: I was depressed that a 10-miler was so difficult for me last night. I'm running in a half-marathon in a week, and just knew this was a harbinger. I spent an hour trying to figure out what and where I went wrong...

Until I woke up this morning, sick to my stomach. Seriously sick to my stomach.

And then it was all clear. I had been having some stomach issues during my run, but I attributed it to running so quickly after eating.

Nope. I'm not sure if I picked up a bug somewhere or if it was something I ate, but I was relieved to have a reason.

There always is one.

Rest.

Since I joined the gym about a month ago, I have done some sort of exercise every single day.

Every. Day.

It wasn't always running. Some days, it was just spin and core exercise class. Sometimes, it was lifting weights and spin.

I need a day. I need a day. My almost-41-year-old body is telling me that every morning.

So, tomorrow, I'm taking one. I am not doing any exercise at all. Nada. Nil. Nothing.

I decided that this morning, when it took me longer than it should to get out of bed, walk to the bathroom, feed the dog.

I could take today, but today is what I consider a "free" day -- Katie doesn't have dance class this evening, so I can get to running as soon as I get the kids -- and I hate to waste it. Today is also the day I go to spin, and I do not want to miss that.

So, tomorrow...

I made up my mind, made the decision, mentioned it to my kids, and now...

I'm already feeling panicky about it.

I know, I know, I know.

A day off is not going to put 40, 60 or 100 pounds back on me.

A day off is not going to negatively affect my running. Not my speed, my pace, my drive, my determination.

I used to resist rest days because I used to be the type of person who could talk herself out of exercise quite easily. So, a day off could lead to a second day off and then a third, and so on.

I'm not that person any more.

I need to remember that.

Compulsion, obsession, addiction.

You say that like it's a bad thing.

Y'all, I have a serious thing for running. It's bad, bad, bad...or good, good, good, depending upon how you look at such things.

This week at the gym, I've started integrating weights into my workout week. Just twice a week, for about 30-45 minutes. No big, right?

Ugh. I don't want to lift weights. I want to run!

Yesterday, I ran 5.5 miles at lunchtime. I went back to the gym in the evening while Kate was in dance class, to do a Group Core class. I got there a little early and while I stretched, I kept thinking, "I could ditch this class and just go out and run. I could do four miles and still be done in time to pick up Miss K."

I didn't, though.

Intellectually, I know I need to do some strength training. I know the Group Core class is good for me.

But my heart wants to be running. Treadmill, road, trail, doesn't matter. Just running.

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Speaking of the trail, we have been blessed with some pretty damn good weather (except for the rain last night and today), so Sunday I hit the park for 10 miles.

I love running the trails. There's always something to see, whether it be people, birds, or flowers. There are a few "hills," so I get something different than my everyday flat pavement.

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One of my goals this year is to run 2,000 miles. I missed it in 2012 by FORTY-EIGHT miles. Ugh. I am peeved about that number because I actually missed very few days running, but there were several days when I could have run 8 or 10 or 12, and I only did 4 or 6. Not going to make that mistake this year.

Anyway, in order to make my goal, I have to run 167 miles a month.

So, for January?

185.