In the spring of 2013 I joined a large group of people from my church to support the local Pregnancy Resource Center by completing a 5K. My reasons for signing up had nothing to do with exercise or being healthy. As an adoptive mom, the Pregnancy Resource Center is near and dear to my heart. The only reason I signed up with my three year old son was to give them support.
The morning of the race I woke up to freezing rain and frigid temps. My husband suggested they might not even have the race because of the terrible weather. This made me even more determined to be there to show my support. So I dressed my son, Asher, in his long johns and warmest pants along with his fireman rain coat. I donned my worn out Nikes from the back of my closet and my Matrix jacket and one of my husband’s old baseball hats, grabbed our hand-me-down stroller and headed out the door.
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| Yep. That's me in the Matrix rain coat. |
As we lined up outside with the other participants I felt very self conscious in my non-workout gear. Some people ran around warming up. Shouldn’t they be saving their energy for the actual race? I felt surrounded by thin and healthy women. None of them were wearing their husband’s baseball caps... and I was the only one in a shiny black rain coat!
As the race director gave instructions over the loadspeaker I shivered while straining to hear what he had to say. Before long, the race had begun and the runners were off. For the first few minutes I was carried along by the big blob of racers. But soon things thinned out as the actual runners pulled ahead and people like me were left behind.
My son loved all the activity- waving at the police officers at the intersections, and especially people he knew when they would pass by us. This race route went into some subdivisions, so there were lots of out-and-backs... many opportunities for us to see our friends who were ahead of us and I watched as many of them used run/walk intervals.
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| My fingers are numb... |
Unfortunately, the weather never cleared up. It seemed to get worse. About half way through the race my hands were so cold and numb from the freezing rain that it was hard to hold onto the stroller to push it. When would this thing be over?!? Then, as my three year old started to cry that he had to go potty, my desperation grew. I started to run.
I ran here and there just to get this awful race over with. I ran here and there so I could get to a warm and dry place. I ran here and there so poor Asher could go potty in the potty chair.
As we reached the last stretch before the finish line a large hill loomed in front of us. I thought very ugly thoughts as I recalled how nice and easy it was strolling down that hill at the start of the race. My fingers and hands were aching as I stretched my arms in front of me to push that stroller and 35 pounds of screaming preschooler up the hill. Once we reached the top, the finish line was in sight. I had made it. Within minutes we would be warm. Asher could use the bathroom. I had run up a hill. All was right within the world.
Then Asher was excited at the sight of the finish, he demanded to get out of the stroller. My three year old was determined to run across the finish line. And so we did. Hand in hand. Me in my black vinyl Matrix raincoat and Asher in his fireman slicker while I tried to maintain control of the stroller with my numb fingers. It was a triumphant finish.
Once we were done we dashed inside to the restrooms, only to have Asher tinkle on the bathroom floor. Asher cried. I stood there with his wet pants in my hands, but all I could do was smile. I had run.
One step at a time,
Amy
