I love running. Really, I do.
On Saturday Paul and I ran in our stake 5k. We missed it last year but heard from friends that it was a lot of fun so we were determined to participate this year. So we borrowed my visiting teaching companion's jogging stroller since they were going to be out of town. The jogging stroller was sort of a last-minute thing though because all along I thought I would be running by myself since Paul hasn't gone running in more than a year and isn't the biggest fan of running when he could do other things for exercise. But I ran track and cross-country in high school and a marathon just before law school and since I have been regularly running two to four mile runs three or four days a week for a few months now, I knew I was plenty prepared for a 5k and had planned all along on just letting Paul and Clara hang out and cheer me on from the sidelines. So when Paul announced that he was going to run with me I informed him that he would be the one pushing the stroller and if he couldn't keep up with my blistering speed (haha, yeah right - I can run but I am not fast) that he was not to expect me to stop and walk with him.
There was a great turn out with 99 runners and it was fun hanging out pre-race visiting with friends while everyone got registered. Here is a "before" picture from my phone (Paul told me he wore his U of U t-shirt "for the intimidation factor" but his true loyalty is clear by his hat choice):
Clara did great during the race, but she loves going for walks or bike rides outside so it is not like we were worried. Paul, on the other hand, started strong but ended up with a side-stitch at 1k that he had to battle through for the remaining distance. We didn't even try to stay together when the race started since we were running on the Los Alamitos Creek trail, which isn't super wide for the stroller (but totally lovely for a race course) and Paul was toward the back of the pack. But after not too far, Paul came zooming past on the left-hand side, passing people right and left (including me) and getting up toward the front-ish of the pack (not the lead but still decently "up there.") When he did that, I just shook my head at my poor novice-runner husband who pushed too hard too early and would certainly choke later on, knowing I would catch him eventually, and settled into my steady-but-ground-eating 6-mph pace. Sure enough I passed him easily around 1 1/2k. Paul said that Clara noticed me when I jogged by and kept reaching and pointing toward me yelling "mama! mama!" as I lengthened the distance between us.
Post-race (notice our crazy-red faces and Clara looking tired since it was definitely about nap-time for her):
In the end we both ran the entire thing and Paul wasn't actually that far behind me. I finished in 30:21 (which was maddening because I was going for a time under 30:00 but didn't have a watch or anything to judge myself with so I was pacing blindly) and Paul finished in 31:58. But the true testament to training came yesterday afternoon and evening when I felt great and Paul was dying and groaning about how his legs were sore. And just this morning Paul came into the living room where I was typing this blog post complaining "I can't walk normally!" and then hobbled down the garage stairs on his way to his early morning church meeting. Poor baby.
I'm all excited now to run another 5k and maybe even a 10k and I am determined to improve my 30:21 time (roughly a 10 minute mile). Who's with me? Sounds like Paul might be out unless he does a little bit more training first.