This past Saturday was Grandma's Marathon, and it was the first time I wasn't taking part in any of the running festivities since 2005. It sucked! I pretty much moped around the house most of the day. Bronson wasn't really sure what to do with me. It was hard to go to the gym and then watch finished runners walk around with their new shirts and shiny medals. This race holds a special place in my heart. It is my favorite race in the world, and I think I've referred to it as the greatest event on the freakin' face of the planet more than once. I love the atmosphere, I love the view, and I love how the city embraces the race.
The race has been a part of my life since I was very young. I remember my mom dragging us on a short walk from our house to the race course to watch my dad and my uncle run by. We would proceed to get sweaty high fives from them as they ran by. I thought it was gross. I remember my dad coming back from training runs, and I would inform him that he stunk and was icky. What a nice daughter right? As we got older sleeping in was more of a priority to us kids than watching Dad run by. I wouldn't have been able to tell you how far a marathon was, and I wouldn't have had any concept of it even if I knew the distance. Running didn't really become part of my life until I was in high school, and even then I didn't do track or cross country or anything like that.
Then, I started increasing the distance I ran, and I got it in my head to try and run a half marathon. The Gary Bjorklund Half Marathon run in conjunction with Grandma's Marathon was the obvious choice because it was in town, and my dad had run it before. Dad promised to run it with me. We trained separately, but we ran the race together, and I had a blast! Dad told me all the secrets. Be sure to drink at least a little at each water stop. Don't dump water on your head. It will get on your feet, and you'll get blisters. Don't run through the showers for the same reason. He made sure I got through my first race in my entire life alive and well, and then we celebrated later that night by eating steak and shrimp, which came to be a tradition after finishing the race. Soon I was running the race without Dad and he was cheering me on and driving me to the starting line. He made sure I got through my first marathon (Grandma's Marathon of course), and told me to trust my training. I think he was more nervous for my first full marathon than I was though, and I was really nervous. It was about 85 degrees and really humid, but the whole drink at every water station thing got me through the race (thanks Dad!).
So you see why I was bummed about not running this year. I know there is always next year, but running the race brings back all sorts of good memories for me. It's kind of an emotional thing. Maybe next year (I plan to run the half) my dad will run with me again. That would be awesome. Thanks Dad for getting me into running!
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