Treks not Treats...ok, some of both.

 

When you have to pick up boots .2 miles into the race, the amount of fun headed your way is quickly realized.  Okay, I admit that it's partially my fault.  I have become a treadmill addict in the last month, depriving Isla of her daily jaunts in BOB.  She's become used to playing with her friends at the gym while Mom runs.  Sit still?  Are you kidding me, I'm 15 months old, lady!

Despite the fact that Isla was less than thrilled with being caged in the stroller for the morning, the rest of my crew thoroughly enjoyed running our first family 5k.  While the oldest one is a 5k veteran and Isla's a pro, middle kid had yet to run in a real race.

It was a little cold that morning.  And by cold, I mean 45.  Because we lost our Yankee Card, and are now Southerners, we froze.  And complained about it, a lot.  A few people at the start asked, "So your children, they are running the whole thing, too?"  Of course!  They are children.  They have energy to SPARE!  Once the gun fired, we were off, quickly warming up.  Thanks to the crowd, we tracked down the missing Ugg and prevented another boot launch by making her piggies naked for the run. 

It was fun to watch my middle kid run.  Knowing, in my heart, that she could easily outrun me, as I would be stuck navigating a crowd with a stroller, she got instructions at the beginning of the race.  "Run smart until you see the sign for mile two.  Then run as hard as you can.  Don't wait for us...have fun and RUN your race. Meet me at the finish."

The first mile was just chaos.  She was overwhelmed with the crowd and I could tell she was afraid.  She held back and literally hung on to the stroller for a while.  That, and the boot, made us run a split of like 14 minutes on our first mile.  As the trail opened up and the people spread apart, she turned it on.

Remember when we were children and we'd run, for the fun of it? 
To feel the wind against our faces?  We'd run out our friends house.  We'd run away from the tagger.  Smiles spread across our faces as we ran.  That's how she looked.  And her stride was beautiful.  It was long and fast.  A stride  that I'd kill for.  When she ran, she looked like a runner, loving her run.

At about mile 2 I'd had it with Isla's complaints and decided, stupidly, to take a break.  I (insert a big, fat, I TOLD YOU SO) picked her up and carried her.  While pushing Bob.  And running, slowly.  She really liked that.  That made her laugh, and smile.  That was fun!  But let's be real.  She weighs 20 pounds.  I got tired.

I finally decided to put her in, and make the best of the next .6 miles.  Whattya gonna do?  We cheered for middle child as we passed on turn arounds and over passes.  She met us at the finish, big smile on her face, saying, "That was FUN!  When are we gonna do it AGAIN?"  Yup.  I think I've bred another addict!

The oldest was thrilled because he remembered the best part about races.  The after party.  Containing food.  Making him  happy, as well.  Enjoying our coffee and breakfast together, the oldest child relayed a story to me.  He ran a bit behind me and heard a man holler at his group, "Look, a lady carrying a baby, PUSHING a STROLLER just passed us.  What's our EXCUSE?"