I Don't Have to Outrun the Bear. I Just Have to Outrun You.

I did it. IDIDIT!IDIDIT!IDIDIT!IDIDIT!IDIDIT!IDIDIT!IDIDIT!IDIDIT!IDIDIT!IDIDIT!IDIDIT!IDIDIT!

I was totally nervous this morning. Couldn't eat a thing, but managed to choke down some coffee and juice.

(Because - running without caffeine? Please.)

At 6:28 am, The Husband left me at the back of the starting line pack and threaded his way through to the crowd where the cool kids were. I heard some sort of horn and then everyone started to bunch together. Slowly we kept walking forward and I was getting a tad claustrophobic since I don't like crowds and didn't like the thought of us all having to squeeze together to wait for the gun.

But then we just kept going forward and going forward and suddenly I was crossing the start line and thinking, "oh. So that's what that horn meant."

It was 26 degrees and felt like 35 when we left the house at 5:30 am, so it was already pretty sweaty. We'd been tracking a major thunderstorm for the last couple of days and there was a 50/50 chance it would hold off until the race was done.

As soon as I crossed the start line, the spitting started. By Mile 1, it was a drizzle. By Mile 2, it had turned into a downpour. By Mile 2.1, my shoes were squishing. Mile 2.25, one of my earphones shorted out.

At Mile 3, my ankle started to hurt. And then I got really nervous. I'd never accounted for injury. So I spent about a mile wracking my brain for everything I know about the Achilles tendon (hint: it's not a lot) and wondered whether there would be an audible snap.

And then, everything just started to settle in. I was soaking wet, my ankle hurt, and I was at the back of a very long line (FYI - it's actually quite nice at the back. Lots of room - no crowding).

I figured, hey, how much worse can this get, and settled in with my tunes, punctuated by the squish squish squish.

There were rescue vans and medics, hovering around we shufflers at the back like vultures. Every time they passed, my eyes narrowed and I mentally telegraphed move along buddy. Nothing for you here.

At about Mile 5 I actually started passing people. I ran the whole way up the most monstrous hill at Mile 8. And at Mile 11, I really opened 'er up, and passed a whole whack of people.

Of course, with this waiting for you half a mile from the finish line, it's a whole lot easier:
(The Boy was waiting a bit further up ahead. I reached him and held my hand out for a high five and he exclaimed with relief, Mom, I thought you were DEAD!!!)

But dead, I was not. Tired, very sore, and so very very very proud of myself.

I met my goals: I finished and I beat the rescue van. For those of you keeping score at home, my time was 2:44:01. Now when I started this whole thing, I figured this was it. It was a one-time deal, I'd prove I could do it, and I'd go back to my ketchup-chip-eating-workout-thy-name-is-a-stroll-around-the-lake ways. And then I saw my time today.

And I thought, Bet I can do it faster next time. Also, to my darling, supportive, behind-you-all-the-way-honey Husband? I TOLD YOU SO.