The headiness of race day is enough, but add to that the enslaving, ephemeral moment of crossing the finish line, and suddenly you’re a race junkie. You don’t have to be fast. You don’t have to be any good at all. Trust me. My first marathon is the perfect example: the more challenges you face, the more intoxicating the effect. The more complete the euphoria.
All of which is why I’m delighted to report that yesterday I got to watch as some of my very favorite people in all of the world took their first hit.
It was a 5K, and I was supposed to run it too, but my foot injury is still hanging in there and a race is no place to try to take it easy. That’s just silly. On race day, your body does things you would never guess it could do. Sometimes things you would never think it should do. So a race is really and truly the precise incorrect place to jump back into running after an injury. But just as spending hours strapped into the stationary bike is teaching me a new kind of patience, being a spectator at a race has its own rewards. It was easy, really, because, as I said, I ADORE these people, and I was so happy to see them enjoying themselves so much. And even before they were enjoying themselves, in those uneasy minutes before the race begins, I already knew how good they would feel at the finish. So I grinned at them like a maniac and frightened them, but now they understand. I think. Besides, they’re very accustomed to my maniacal behavior, and they love me anyway.
Anyway, here are some photos from the day:
Congratulations, my favorite second family. I love you guys!