You found me! Now what?

In the words of Marcia Brady, “Something suddenly came up.” And that something was Number 4′s knee.

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Jan 2, 2013 , , , , 6 Comments

Last April, I ran my first (and so far, only) half marathon.

On January 1st 2012, I went online, found a training program for beginners for a half marathon, printed it out, and followed it religiously.

I was totally focused on finishing that race.  It was my number 1 priority for 3 months.

And then about 2 weeks before the race, I developed a pretty significant hip injury.

But I was determined to run that race.

And finish.

A  sore hip was not going to stop me from running.

I would have crawled the whole thing if I had to.

So anyway, I was literally limping through the beginning of the race.

Somewhere around the 5th mile my adrenaline must have kicked in, because my hip totally stopped bothering me.

And I ended up finishing faster than I thought I would.

Trust me, it wasn’t fast, but it took me about 15 minutes less than I thought it was going to take.

All throughout January, February, and March, I had envisioned myself crossing the finish line over and over in my head.

I pictured my family there cheering me on.  My parents.  My husband.  My kids jumping up and down…

They would swallow me up with hugs and kisses.

I would have the biggest fan club there.

People would look at me in awe…

Did you see that woman?

Did you see all those kids?

That little one is only 6 months old!

Can you believe she just ran a half marathon? 

I was in the zone when I turned the corner for the last 200 yards. 

Totally focused.  Blinders on.

And as soon as soon as I crossed the finish line, I started bawling.

I knew it would only be seconds before my family was surrounding me.

Congratulating me….

Okay…

I knew it would only be a few more seconds before my family was there, surrounding me…

A minute?

A few minutes?

Where the fuck was my family?

As far as I was concerned, I had just accomplished something pretty major.

And my family knew it was a big deal to me.

So there I was, bawling like an idiot, holding onto the medal around my neck, and wandering around like a lost 2-year-old at the mall.

Not a family member in sight.

Because they were all at Dunkin Donuts.

Eating donuts.

Apparently they underestimated me.

And so my finish was rather anticlimactic.

My entourage showed up about 12 minutes after I had crossed the finish line.

So anyway, now when I run a race, or do a triathalon, I make sure I give my cheering squad ample time to get to the finish.

Which brings me to yesterday, when I ran a New Year’s Day race here in town.

It starts and finishes at the high school.

There is a good sledding hill there, so my husband took the five older kids and their sleds to the race.  My parents stayed home with the two littlest ones.

As I started the race, my cheering squad of six was there to send me off, and then they all went to sled.

I told my husband what time to be at the finish.

I gave him plenty of extra time.

I hadn’t run, or done any form of exercise in about 2 1/2 weeks, so I wasn’t sure how long it was going to take me to finish.

I crossed the line in my usual fashion.

Focused, and in the zone.

And right in the middle of the window I had given my husband.

I looked for my cheering section.

But they weren’t there.

There wasn’t any Dunkin Donuts nearby, so I knew that wasn’t the problem.

I went inside the school and got some water.  Maybe Number 5 had a pee pee emergency…

Nope.

Nobody.

So I headed toward the car. 

And that’s when Number 1 came sprinting around the side of the high school.

He was a little frazzled.  Unable to communicate in complete sentences…

Blood… Number 3… car…Dad… swearing…

The sledding hill is pretty far across the high school campus.

There is a separate road and entrance to that section of the school.

I guess my race wasn’t quite over yet.

So I sprinted to the car and drove around to the back of the school.

In the Ultimate Sledding Championships, Number 4′s knee defeated Number 3′s nose via unanimous decision.

So I spent the remainder of my New Year’s Day in the Emergency Room with Number 3.

Both sides of his nose are broken.

Today I need to call the plastic surgeon.

Hopefully he won’t need to do anything…

I was told there’s a good chance that Number 3′s nose would “migrate back to it’s original location.”

Huh.

And I thought only geese were migrating at this time of year.

I suppose it could have been worse.

But the next race I compete in, I think I’ll just leave my family at home… 

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