Tradition

What exactly is a tradition? In our family, it is the Coronado race on the Fourth of July. This year was the first year my hubby didn't run the 15K pushing 2 kids in the jogger (and still beating my time). He ran the 5 K along side our 5 year old, while pushing our 3 year old. It was a beautiful sight to behold. My little toehead, skinny legs that go on forever, trotting along side her dad, with brother asleep in tow.

Of course, I didn't really see the whole race. I was out running the other direction for a few extra miles. The 15K is my favorite race. I normally detest the out and back course, but for some reason, this race is extraordinary. Maybe it is the Star Spangled Banner that is sung at race start (it always brings tears to my eyes), or maybe it is the hundreds of patriotic people in their funny striped shorts sprecked with stars (you people who wore your Union Jacks are totally rude). Maybe it is the smell of BBQ along the course (and tons of smoke, of course) or the people lined up all along the way cheering. I love running on the Base with all the military guys yelling for us. I feel American the whole run.

All I wanted was to better my time of 1:09 last year. I have run this race every year I have been in San Diego, with the exception of one year, I think. I even ran it 8 weeks post partum off a C section against my doctor's advice. I practically planned the birth of my children based on the ability to participate in this event. Why? I am not sure. I just love the tradition of it. It is like a running streak I do not want to break. ridiculous, I know.

This year was fabulous because, in addition to my little people in the race, I had lots of friends running, as well. I love the turn around on the base when one can see her friends on the way back. It is so cool. We even see people we only see once a year at this race. It is special in that way.

I think I went out too slow, despite the first mile being too fast. I had settled into a pace that was a little too comfortable and noodled my way along the course. When I got to mile 5, I knew I needed to pick it up. I did and felt great until about 8 1/2 at which point I started to fade a little. Then, some guys who were introduced to me that day passed me (I had passed them at mile 5) and I tried to hold on. I picked it up, only to finish one second behind them, 1:09:46, or 7:30 pace. So, I a little disappointed I cannot say I bettered my time, but at least it was not worse. I am a little sad I didn't run harder in the beginning, but I enjoyed the view from hanging on to Theresa's shoulder (she finished just behind me). My girl did great. The sweetest part was I got to see her coming in to the finish, since the 5K starts after the 15K. She was a trooper and we are so proud. She even swam for hours after the race and parade, so I am thinking she sandbagged a little?

What can I take away from this experience? That every race day is so different. I felt so prepared for the marathon, only to crumble. This race I was not all in knots about and I went into it with little rest or sleep the days leading up to it, and it was okay. Not fabulous, but I am beginning to wonder if I will ever be totally pleased with any race I do.

I think about my kids, always wanting to climb trees at the park. They are always asking me to hoist them into the pines, scaling the branches, uncertain of their ability, but always wanting to go higher, nonetheless. They are often a little shakey, but they continue to climb, even higher than I can comfortably spot them. Is that how we all are? We want more than we are certain we can achieve. We are reaching for the next highest branch, wanting to spread our wings and explore, terrified of the fall. I think that is how I am, anyway. Wanting the next highest branch, desperate to clutch it in my hands, fearful of what happens if I miss it. The marathon was a miss, entirely. The 15K was a rung back up the tree, hopefully closer to the view at the top.