Jingle Bell 5K

It is that time of year again: the time to freeze our bells off running a 5K in the variable Colorado winter weather.

On the morning of the Jingle Bell 5K, I woke up feeling rather awful. My head was splitting; my stomach wound in agitated knots. I felt hungover without the benefit of getting drunk the night before. I also dressed for a balmy 40-50 degree run and was instead greeted by a penetrating frosty bite on the air.

In short, I was simply not feeling it.

My daughter and I began with a visit to Santa, where I asked for a healed hamstring for Christmas. Then the kids’ race was first. My daughter again asked to run without me, which left me feeling some combination of proud and a little hurt. I know she ultimately does not want me to run with her because I push her, don’t let her stop, don’t indulge her crying. Maybe I’m too hard on a 5 year-old.

But she does great without me. Without me, she ran the full distance at a good pace. Maybe I bring out the whiner in her.

After the kids were whisked away to the warmth by grandparents, Trisha and I settled in to run our race. We decided to just stick together and just run. No striving, no PRs, just running.

And we just ran. We chatted about nothing. We watched a fight ensue over headphones versus stroller running (like really? Merry Christmas, guys). I didn’t think about pace or if my muscles were burning or if I could breathe right or if I was keeping up with other runners. I didn’t think.

I floated the majority of the first half. Just floated right along, which is extremely strange for me in the opening mile. A little exertion warmed me right up, and I was shedding layers in no time. My hamstring had ached in the morning yet felt better on the run. It would balk from time to time, twinge at a certain stride, yet overall, it hurt less to be running.

We ended up laying down a great race. At the Great Pumpkin 5K (October), I ran a 37 minute 5K. At the Turkey Trot 5K (November), I ran a 35 minute 5K. At this Jingle Bell 5K, we did a 34 minute 5K. So, even though my injury persists and my running regiment has gone to hell, my pace is steadily improving. Perhaps thanks to all the cross training. Whatever it is, I will take it!

(Also, turns out the Great Pumpkin was also my 50th race; that happened when I wasn’t paying attention.)

I was extremely pleased with the run overall. Our time turned out awesome, but it did not even really matter. It was running with a friend for the sake of running, and the simplicity was so enjoyable after so many months of over critiquing myself.

It felt free.

 

**Hamstring update**

I finally folded and went to the doctor for my hamstring. These near five months later. The pain had escalated to the point that it hurt to sleep, hurt to sit in a chair, hurt to stand up completely straight. That constant pain started to affect my mood and irritability levels, which in turn got taken out on my family, so steps needed to be taken.

In all honesty, I went to the doctor just hoping for some Vicoden or any other pain killer that would make it stop just for a little while. Just one night of being able to roll over without whimpering. Just one day of not cringing and hobbling around. The doctor, not too surprisingly, decided on a different course of treatment.

Rather than pain killer to mask the discomfort, he gave me anti-inflammatory medication to reduce the inflammation and hopefully promote healing. The first couple days, it felt like a cure. My leg felt completely like mine again. My flexibility returned. My body felt normal. I could have vibrated out of my skin with relief and excitement. It took every ounce of my considerably weak self-control to not overdo it and leap directly back into full force exercise. I wanted to run a marathon and climb a mountain.

Yet, as the dosage of the medication weaned off the nine day burst, the pain returned. First, it was just twinges again, just the wrong movement or wrong angle. Now, completely off the pills, the leg is slowly creeping back to where we began. It is still better. My flexibility remains vastly improved, but it is worsening by the day.

My ultimate gauge, the line I had in my mind to mark where I was, had been if I had the painful hitch when I stood all the way up. Until today, I was short of that. Today, it started to hint. That stab in my buttcheek as I step out of the car, that hiccup in the fluidity of standing.

I hope I’m not regressing fully. It was so nice to taste recovery. If nothing else, it gave me a little hope, reminded me of what it will be like when it doesn’t hurt every day.

I am scheduled for an MRI next week, so we will know more then. Though my money is on, “hey it’s torn or whatever, just let it heal and do some physical therapy. Oh and pay us $1,000 for the MRI.”

Either way, I can run, and my fitness feels on point lately, so it’s good enough for me. I have found a way to make myself sane around the injury, and at some point, it has to get better.

 

Christina Bergling

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Savages

Two survivors search the ruins of America for the last strain of humanity. Marcus believes they are still human; Parker knows her own darkness. Until one discovery changes everything.

Available now on Amazon!
savagesnovella.com

 

The Waning

Beatrix woke up in a cage. Can she survive long enough to escape, or will he succeed at breaking her down into a possession?

Available now on Amazon!
thewaning.com

 

Collected Christmas

Some of the best voices in horror fiction decided to band together and tell you some tales about a different kind of Christmas.

Available now on Amazon!

Annual Turkey Trot (Year 4)

I have now entered my near fourth month with the hamstring injury. Overall, it has improved, yet day to day, I move forward one step then back two to six. The pain moves, migrates. It has traveled over the length of my hamstring, lingered in the attachments on the side of my knee and deep in my buttcheek. It has even crept up into my sciatic nerve. Once I adjust to the new manifestation, it mutates again. More or less, I am just in constant discomfort.

Yet, beneath the constant, nagging pain, it is slowly improving. My flexibility on that side is returning, working to match the healthy side. It feels better when I’m active. Actually, it feels better during and after activity than it does any other time. The absolute worst is while I am laying down and sleeping. Turning over is an instant of sheer agony.

After working with my chiropractor and personal trainer over these months to rehab the injury, I finally folded and went to the doctor. The doctor seemed rather impressed with the severity and persistence of the injury. He sighted so many points of inflammation and compensation. I wanted pain killers, something to just ease the pain as I healed, especially while I slept, yet I walked out with anti-inflammatory medication and an order for an MRI. Physical therapy is coming. I guess I will take it. I’ll try anything at this point. The resting pain is getting brutal.

But, like I said, activity is getting better. Which includes running! After months of skipping my own runs and focusing only on training Michelle at run club, I decided at the Turkey Trot, I would try to actually run for real. I did so at The Great Pumpkin Run, but that was the only other time, and that was rough.

So I went for it. I ran like I had no injury, and strangely, I felt like I had no injury. I also felt like I had not run for months and my cardio was absolute shit, especially in the blasting icy wind. But I didn’t have hamstring pain during the run!

This Turkey Trot is always a challenge. The opening mile is painful, rolling incline. By the time I finally reach the returning decline, I am usually sputtering and roasting to death in my own exertion. This year was no different than the previous, only with the inclusion of my lack of training and the wind blaring off the prairie.

I went back to basics. I just kept pushing. I just kept running. I forced myself not to obsess over my pace or gauge myself against the surrounding runners. I made my focus the lack of pain in my hamstring and not stopping. I didn’t stop. I just ran, sloppily wogging at best at points. I scarcely found a float at any point, and I dry heaved with vigor at the end, but it was worth it to feel something like myself again.

I even pulled a pretty average time for me. Happy Thanksgiving to me!

I’m hoping it is a step back into running. A cautious, slow step. An attempt at moderation and compromise with my body. Because my mind is not taking this no running business. The insanity is flaring up on all sides and screaming for the outlet. Just not at the price of the flesh. I think I will always tear myself apart, even trying to be healthy, even fumbling for balance.

In addition to my own 5K, my daughter participated in the 1K kids’ run.

And she ran the whole thing. All by herself with her friends. She was so excited and proud of herself. And so was I.

It was a good run morning. My favorite way to start the holiday. I crashed when we returned home, of course. My sinus infection flared up; my hamstring tightened. I just drank mimosas until I didn’t feel feelings, and it turned into a good day.

Christina Bergling

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Savages

Two survivors search the ruins of America for the last strain of humanity. Marcus believes they are still human; Parker knows her own darkness. Until one discovery changes everything.

Available now on Amazon!
savagesnovella.com

The Waning

Beatrix woke up in a cage. Can she survive long enough to escape, or will he succeed at breaking her down into a possession?

Available now on Amazon!
thewaning.com

Great Pumpkin 5K

After two full months, I do not know what more to say about this race but that I ran it. The whole thing. Three full miles of gentle jogging. Since this was the first time I ran over a mile (or really a couple blocks) in two months, that is all that really matters.

Back to running.

FINALLY! Just in time for fall.

I really enjoy the Great Pumpkin Run at Venetucci Farm. I loved picking pumpkins there as a child, so the location holds a palpable nostalgia for me. Running through a pumpkin patch just seems to entirely encapsulate fall itself into one moment.

This year, I honored my injury and registered for the 5K, instead of the 10K. The October morning was unseasonably warm, but I lined up at the start line with no expectations. I forced my obsessions down and focused on just enjoying whatever might happen. I made myself happy to just be out for a run at all.

As I broke out into a stride, bobbing among the crowd through the pumpkin patch, the run felt better than I expected. With a new configuration of KT tape, my hip felt shaky but not painful. I tried to hold back against the excitement of familiar movement and lean on the wisdom to baby the injury. In the first mile, I knew I was probably running past my hamstring and even my cardio, but it was hard to care with the autumn sun on my face and that reminiscent float blooming in my chest.

I calmed down as we rounded into the backwoods. Jogging through chilled, knee-deep water definitely slowed me. And also felt awesome. Water squished out of my shoes with each step on the mud. The more I ran, the better my leg felt, the more the rhythm of the movement became natural. My hamstring would only balk at an uneven forest mogul or rutted gravel path.

It just felt good to be running. I forced myself to not care about anything else.

Ultimately, it was my cardio that betrayed me. I felt those two months of not running with the heat on me. I struggled the last half mile, battled up a small hill, dry heaved across the finish. I managed 37 minutes, which is acceptable even on a good day. I will take it.

My hamstring even did well after the run. The two recent runs have actually seemed to accelerate healing, increase flexibility. It’s like my body needs the exercise to be itself, but that might just be my addiction talking. I did tweak my hip the next day, but that was from unrelated circumstances, and I believe my chiropractor fixed it. He said the change in the pain was the injury unraveling from all the compensating I was doing. He assures me this is a good thing and progress. If he says so.

It is a start. It is a step towards normalcy. And I am going to learn to take it.

The entire experience is proving to be a learning one, more so than even my last injury. The way my obsession really hobbled me with the previous injury humbled me, taught me about myself and what was wrong with how I treat myself. I let my hatred of my post-baby body and my fixation on exercise and progress literally tear my hip and prevent it from healing for the better part of a year. It was an ugly thing to see about myself. I always knew it was there, yet it was another thing to tape the consequences every day.

And I just repeated the pattern. I healed, pushed myself too hard, and injured myself again. So, this time, I am making the conscious effort to break the cycle, to change my behavior, to learn from my repeated mistakes. I don’t want to be limping around or having body parts replaced when I am old because I could not take a damn break. I don’t want to injure myself any more than I already have managed.

So, as I move into my favorite running season, I am going to strive to still temper myself. I am going to attempt a balance, which I have never had any talent for. I live in extremes, but I am going to push myself for moderation. It will require me to compromise with myself, who might be the person I compromise with the least (and that is saying something). It will also require me to be lenient with myself, relent a bit from my own torture, give myself a break.

This should be interesting.

 

Christina Bergling

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Savages

Two survivors search the ruins of America for the last strain of humanity. Marcus believes they are still human; Parker knows her own darkness. Until one discovery changes everything.

Available now on Amazon!
savagesnovella.com

The Waning

Beatrix woke up in a cage. Can she survive long enough to escape, or will he succeed at breaking her down into a possession?

Available now on Amazon!
thewaning.com

Run to the Shrine (With Kids!)

The first time I did Run to the Shrine, I was good and pregnant. Last year, the hill completely defeated me (to my dismay). This year, instead of being about me doing anything, I made it about doing something with my daughter.

Recently, I have been working on running with my daughter. She’s now 5 so we have been practicing the 5K distance. She has completed some with some success (and some with less than success). She seems to be learning and improving, and I am also learning to be patient and adjust my expectations. I think it has been good for both of us.

I decided to take her with me to Run to the Shrine because it is conducted at our local zoo, which is one of our favorite places. However, her father pointed out that expecting a 5 year-old to walk 2 miles up a mountain then back and then behave at the zoo all day was unreasonable. I could not deny his logic, so we compromised. I wore my daughter on my back for 1.5 miles up; then she walked the last .5 mile up and 1 mile down.

On a normal day, this would have been a brilliant plan. However, the unpredictable Colorado springtime decided to lob some frigid foggy weather our way instead. It was cold, really quite cold, especially when a icy mountain breeze would start tickling the route.

My daughter did great on my back. I believe she might have fallen asleep on my shoulder if I let her. I also finally felt the fruits of all my work. Walking up a mountain, wearing a 30 pound child felt like nothing. I wasn’t fatigued; I wasn’t winded. It felt easy, which, in itself, was amazing. It is nice to see the results of all my self-torture occasionally.

When I put my daughter down to complete her half of the race, things did not go as simply. Mostly, she was cold. Even in her coat plus my coat plus my attempts to get her to jog to warm up, she was just very cold.  She held it together well. She contained her whining and crying and pushed through (yes, it is because I bribed her but still). We walked the majority of the way until her father came back for her. He has the talent to always convince her to keep going while thinking it’s a game.

I loved watching them run together. I loved watching him motivate her in ways I couldn’t. He has a talent to be able to make our children forget the hard parts. But she finished her mile and half. She ran across the finish line, and I was very proud of her.

Unfortunately, it was too cold to enjoy the zoo afterward. However, everyone seemed happy enough to sip hot chocolate instead. End to end, it was an enjoyable race experience. Maybe next time there will be sun.

 

Christina Bergling

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Savages

Two survivors search the ruins of America for the last strain of humanity. Marcus believes they are still human; Parker knows her own darkness. Until one discovery changes everything.

Available now on Amazon!
savagesnovella.com

The Waning

Beatrix woke up in a cage. Can she survive long enough to escape, or will he succeed at breaking her down into a possession?

Available now on Amazon!
thewaning.com

Mother Runner

Today is the first day in my running career that I did not finish the full distance of a race. I ran the 5K on St. Patrick’s Day (not on St. Patrick’s Day) with my (nearly) 5 year-old.

My daughter is an active child. She swims; she dances; she plays hard. But I know all too well that running is its own thing, and a 5K can feel like an eternity in the beginning. Remembering that and her age, we did practice beforehand. In previous months, she ran 1K and 1 mile races linked to races I ran. Then, the week prior, I even took her to run club and did a full 5K, to make sure she could do it. She walked for large chunks but finished strong, even despite large hills. (She has also completed a 5K race before.)

She did not do as well at the race, however. I would have assumed that she would have done better in the morning on a completely flat course, but that was not the case. She bolted off in the first half mile, very motivated and having fun. We took a walk break and made it through the first mile. In the second mile, the whining started. Her feelings had been hurt by a friend we were running with, and I think that was part of it, but she was still reasonable. We agreed to do intervals between stop lights, walking then running. She ran like a little champ past her daddy and brother as we rounded past the start for the final leg.

Then she hit what I assume to be a baby wall. The whining became constant. I had to pretty much drag her at a walk. She complained and repeatedly begged for me to hold her. I am familiar with how she was feeling. I have hit that wall and felt that way MANY times in MANY races. As my friend pointed out, they have no filter at this age; they just let their suffering and insecurities hang out.

She has had these whiny phases before when we have run. Usually, they pass, and we can make some progress. This time, it was relentless. I tried to encourage her; I tried to push her; I tried to motivate (read: bribe) her. She would not be moved. At some point, she just seemed to be suffering, and I was about ready to come out of my skin from her whining. Instead of finishing the leg, I drew the line, and we turned around early, turning 3.2 miles into 2.4.

My daughter continued to whine and even spouted some tears. Yet, at the end, she managed to power through and finish running.

At the time, I was definitely very irritated. Whining grates on my nerves, and not finishing the race, of course, irked me. But I know she is young, and running a 5K is a lot to ask of her tiny body. I am ok with her having a rough time. I am ok with her not being able to run much or complete the full distance. My concern and my confusion is more on what I should be doing in these instances as her mother.

More than once on the race, when she begged me to hold her, I wanted to. I wanted to pick her up and just make it better. I did not because I did not want to teach her to just give up. I want her to learn to challenge herself and push herself. But she is only 5 years-old, so where is that line? When am I challenging her and when am I pushing her too hard? Where is the line between pushing through and sucking the fun out of it?

So while I am at complete peace with the mess the 5K turned into and do not even really wish I had run it by myself instead, I do now find myself questioning this facet of my parenting. I am caught between not wanting my daughter to grow up to be like me, coasting through life and never challenging herself until in her 30s after she has children, and not wanting to try and fix my mistakes through her. I want to teach her how to challenge herself and succeed and also how to fail. I fear I’ll be asking myself these questions her entire childhood.

But with a 5 year-old, how far do you push her?

Beyond the child drama and the parenting paradigm questioning, the race was a success for running mate Michelle. She smoked us mommas and preschoolers and laid down some good miles, finally coming out of recovery from her respiratory illness.

 

Christina Bergling

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Savages

Two survivors search the ruins of America for the last strain of humanity. Marcus believes they are still human; Parker knows her own darkness. Until one discovery changes everything.

Available now on Amazon!
savagesnovella.com

The Waning

Beatrix woke up in a cage. Can she survive long enough to escape, or will he succeed at breaking her down into a possession?

Available now on Amazon!
thewaning.com

Hot Chocolate 15K

Fall running is always redemption running for me. After the brutality and stagnation of the summer heat lifts, an avalanche of progress usually surfaces to remind me why I love running and continue the addiction all year round.

This was abundantly true today at the Hot Chocolate 15K in Denver. Sandwiched between completing my half marathon and the upcoming Cripple Creek, I entered the Hot Chocolate race rather apathetic. I wanted to run the distance, as usual, but I did not really have any pace goals or requirements.

Then I saw the pacer holding the sign with my pre-pregnancy average pace: 11:30. Seeing that number, that I had been chasing since returning to running, snapped something in my mind. After crossing the start line, I did not wog gently. Instead, I pushed myself. I ran to my (reasonable) limit.

At first, I took off in front of the pacer, in her white shirt, with her little time sign, incessantly checking her watch. Then she crept up behind me. I would push myself again until she fell back behind me. Once, she even disappeared into the distance, and I considered abandoning my foolish goal.

As the increased pace began to burn in my belly and the pacer continued to nip at my heels, I settled to make the 5K portion in 11 minute miles. Yet that sign came and went, and I continued to push. Where my float usually greets me after 2-3 miles, at this elevated exertion level, it waited. I vividly felt those first miles, perpetually talking myself into pushing harder.

I did find my float somewhere around 5 miles, just over halfway through the race. Then it began to ebb and flow. I would smile to myself at how good it felt to run like this; then I would slam into a wall, where my body begged me to stop, to slow.

I just kept going.

The 10K sign came and went. The pacer and I continued to alternate lead until I ultimately pulled ahead of her, and though I routinely checked over my shoulder, she did not reappear.

Near mile 8, my true wall slammed into my face. Full force. I stuttered and slobbered like a sedated basset hound. I puttered and staggered. But I would not walk in the last two miles.

I just kept going. And I made it.

I was too nauseous to eat my chocolate fondue finisher’s cup, yet it was satisfying just to hold it. When I looked at my time, I did even better than I thought during the race. I lived under 11:30. Like I always used to, once upon a time.

I had thought I would not be able to achieve my pre-pregnancy running until I returned to pre-pregnancy weight. I have proven to myself that that is not true. I have run a half marathon. I have run at my old pace for 9 straight miles. All I needed was a little cold weather; all I needed was to truly push myself past what I thought I could do now.

I don’t have to be who I was before; I can be this version right here.

Christina Bergling

christinabergling.com
facebook.com/chrstnabergling
@ChrstnaBergling
chrstnaberglingfierypen.wordpress.com
pinterest.com/chrstnabergling

Savages

Two survivors search the ruins of America for the last strain of humanity. Marcus believes they are still human; Parker knows her own darkness. Until one discovery changes everything.

Available now on Amazon!
savagesnovella.com

The Waning

Beatrix woke up in a cage. Can she survive long enough to escape, or will he succeed at breaking her down into a possession?

Available now on Amazon!
thewaning.com

Run to the Shrine

Failure.

Failure to run an 11 mile on Tuesday.

Failure to run the duration of the Run to the Shrine.

Failure to lose the baby weight.

I have been working myself to death for nothing. I have been starving myself and eating clean bullshit for nothing. I have been sacrificing my personal time and time with my family for nothing.

Fuck this.

I won’t be able to run Cripple Creek if I couldn’t even manage these two miles.

At least my new shoes didn’t destroy my feet again.

***

The Run to the Shrine did not go well for me this year. Last year, I was pregnant, walking, and pushing my daughter in a stroller half the time. This year, I just failed to run the duration, which is always my only goal. My base requirement for my running.

I had no great ambitions for a stellar time or for it to be easy; however, my only goal was to run/jog/wog the whole way up. I did not even make it the first mile. Maybe 3/4 of a mile up the brutal mountain hill between the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo and the Shrine of the Sun.

Heartbroken, disappointed, frustrated, livid, we walked the second mile to the turn around; then I unleashed my pace downhill. I was relieved to find all my downhill training seemed to show in my form down the steep grade. That consoled me a little but not much.

 With some finishing perspective, I can force myself to more objectively evaluate my performance and appreciate the race. It was a beautiful race, both the weather and the scenery. I went with a group of great (and supportive) friends. And afterwards, we enjoyed the zoo.

It was a shitty race but a good day.

I believe my failure was amplified by my earlier failure in the week. On the previous Tuesday, we had attempted a downhill 11 mile route in preparation for our upcoming downhill half in July. I only made it to mile 9. Yes, it was because my shoes were all wrong and my feet hurt so bad I could barely walk. I had to be picked up by car. Yet, reasons and excuses don’t alleviate the failure for me.

So the failed hill 5K compounded the failed 11 mile attempt, which was already compounding the perpetual failure of losing the baby weight and returning to my previous shape.

I know this is a journey… bla bla bla. I know there will be failures and reattempts… bla bla bla. I was just unprepared for two (totaling to three) failures in so few days and to not be able to simply wog a 5K, no matter how steep.

Disney Frozen 5K and Enchanted 10K

Disney, thy name is clusterfuck.

I was a Disney virgin. Never went as a kid. Never took my young children. It was not until my Disney enthusiast friend dangled a weekend of races in front of my when my daughter was old enough to enjoy the trip that I relented.

The entire experience was, in a word, intense. The way Vegas is an exhausting bombardment of the senses but for children. Which may, in the end, be more draining and overstimulating.

But the races. Again, I say clusterfuck.

First, it was the 5K. Florida was tragically unseasonably frigid and windy, and we had to line up in our corrals in the dark in the wee hours. We boarded the bus around 4 am and stood in the freezing dark for over an hour. I was cold; I was tired, and I was cranky. I was also nagged by the worry that my children were back at the hotel being awful for my friend’s mother (they were not; they were angels).

Once our corral finally lined up and the starting gun finally went off, I started to enjoy the 5K though. I was running. The sun was rising. I was warm and actually doing something besides waiting impatiently.

Our route looped us through a long parking lot before bringing us around the world showcase in Epcot. I was able to find my usual race euphoria, where I jogged along enjoying the scenery. I appreciated the menagerie of princess and Frozen costumes that looked like Pinterest exploded on the race course.  I listened to “Let it Go” playing over and over in language after language.

The race was packed, and there could be no real running through the crowd even if I wanted to, but it suited a leisurely jog that was more about the location and characters alongside the race than a PR. The race was not even timed.

We finished the 5K; then our real race began.

We hurried back to the resort, dressed my daughter, and sprinted back to Epcot for her kid race.

My daughter’s little dash was potentially the highlight of my running that weekend and maybe the cutest thing I have ever seen. It was also, ironically, the most organized of all the races we participated in that weekend. Only for her would I dress as Anna to her Elsa. Only for her would I wear that same sweaty costume all day so we could get her to the Magic Kingdom for her princess makeover on time.

But she ran her 100 meters holding my hand tight, and she loved it. And she proudly wore her race shirt to school to tell everyone about it. I think I may have started to impart my love for running on her, and I cannot wait to nurture that.

The next day, it was the 10K.

For this race, we had to be up and on the bus even earlier. So my alarm, of course, malfunctioned, and I, of course, overslept. I began my running day sprinting to the bus in the cold, dark night. But we made it and were back waiting in the cold corrals once again. Me barely awake, my friend hurting a lot from the race the previous day then how much we walked afterwards.

The 10K, I did not enjoy. The route was stupid. We left Epcot to run on a highway. Then, while we retraced the 5K’s round of the world showcase and saw some of the boardwalk, the majority was the service road/backstage portion of Epcot. Very boring and VERY congested.

My friend was also hurting. A lot. Her feet (with plantar fasciitis) and calves were killing her. She had been limping when we walked to the corrals, so jogging and attempting to speed walk was pretty brutal. Unfortunately, the 10K required a 16 minute pace, complete with three women with balloons yelling and “encouraging” you before they sweep you off the course.

We spent the majority of the race, at least the last half, trying to outrun these damn women. As if we could, the course was so packed I could not have run or even walked faster if I wanted. It was pretty much infuriating.

The best part of the 10K for me was my friend. She pushed herself completely, farther than she wanted to, through all kinds of pain. I was so completely proud of her.

All in all, I am glad I did the trip and the races. It was definitely a bucket list experience worth checking off. Would I do it again? I’m not quite sure.

The greatest lesson I learned was to not pair two back-to-back races with days in the Disney parks. It is all walking and carrying kids, neverending. It just is too much when included with miles of running in an unfathomable crowd before dawn. I was more exhausted than I knew what to do with as I was wearing an infant and escorting a tiny princess through castles and to meet other princesses.

Ugly Sweater 5K

This post is a little delayed in coming, but I published a book and it was Christmas. Shit came up.

Earlier in the month, I welcomed my running mate Trisha back from post partum at her first 5K since baby, the Ugly Sweater Run in Denver.

Last year, when we partook in the Ugly Sweater Run, I was pregnant, and it was freezing. It was kind of a mess, but I think we ultimately had fun.

This year, our racing pack dropped like flies. One had to travel for work; one had to travel for a funeral; one was struck down with a respiratory infection. It was not the makings of the best race ever. However, we were rejuvenated by the addition of my walking friend, Marni, and her husband.

When we arrived up in Denver, the race was being held at a new venue. Last year, the run was in downtown Denver, starting outside Coors stadium, which is always a fun and relatively flat location to run. This year, however, the location had been shifted to the Rapids stadium way out in the middle of nowhere.

The course was nearly completely flat, and it was cool to start the route weaving through the actual stadium. But ultimately, the course dwindled into parking lot switchbacks and became really fucking boring.

The day became frigid and windy. I was thankful for my jingling ugly sweater and hideous racing swag hat. However, that was short lived. The sun emerged in the beginning of the race, and combined with running in a damn sweater, I was melting. My bell adorned sweater became more of a burden than a novelty.

My racing experience was rather lackluster. Hot and boring. I was quite disappointed in the race itself and its new location. Aside from the new course being mind numbing, the place was packed. From port-a-potties to packet pickup, the lines were long.

Yet I still managed to capture that runner’s high. I still felt the endorphins and felt good about wogging out Trisha’s first race back with her.

The after party, however, was were it was at for it. It was nothing special, just a few canned ciders. Yet combined with the endorphins of a 5K, good company, and a lack of children, it proved to be quite delightful. I pounded the ciders from the drink tickets people passed off to us in line and got a happy and contended buzz. Eating pizza in the car on the way home, I was simply happy.

And that is what doing these races is all about. Just having fun.

(Did I mention I had to awkwardly breastpump in the car in the parking lot before the race? Yeah, the joys of motherhood!)

Jingle Bell 5K

(As with the Turkey Trot, my daughter ran the kids 1K beforehand. Unfortunately, this time did not go as well as the previous. It was longer, colder, and she was both sick and without a friend to run with her. I tried to push her and encourage her, but there was a point where there were too many tears on her wind-burned cheeks where too much, and I just carried her. Once the finish line was in sight, I did place her back on the ground and make her reluctantly jog out the last stretch.

When I was a child, if something did not come naturally to me, I simply did not really do it. I was fortunate that enough things came naturally to me that no one really noticed. But I never practiced, never tried at anything until my adult life. Running is one of the first things that was hard for me that I continued to pursue. Yet jogging with my miserable 3 year-old, I found it difficult to find the line between pushing her past my opportunist disposition she might have inherited and making her do something that made her genuinely unhappy.)

5Ks are starting to feel like 5Ks again. They still suck, but at least they are getting shorter.

I made the foolish mistake, that I have made over and over, of thinking a route would be flat. It was, of course, not flat. Nowhere in Colorado is flat. Nowhere!

I lit out from the starting line (as much as a turtle can), feeling very good, feeling very familiar. Turns out, I was chasing my pre-pregnancy pace and nearly killed myself in the first mile. By the time I was running past horses shitting in their pasture beside the road (ah, the charms of Fountain), I was starting to feel it.

The route turned into a park. The way the path weaved through an otherwise open field hearkened to the Great Pumpkin Race we do every October. The hills were relatively small and rolling, yet the unseasonable December sun was cooking me and was panting and drooling from pushing too fast at the start.

At the first mile sign, I thought I could do this. When there was no second mile sign, my faith began to waiver. I knew I was heading back towards the start, looping back through the park. Yet my body was rebelling, objecting. I felt myself going slower and slower, panting harder and harder, roasting hotter and hotter.

I wanted to stop. The thought kept pounding in my head. My body wanted to walk. Over and over, I felt the consciousness of my legs and feet falling into a walking rhythm, but I refused. I refused to drop the wog; I refused to walk.

Yet as I approached pavement again, a short but huge hill sprung up ahead of me. I forced myself to wog up it, moving at the pace of standing still. But I made it.

Then I felt the dry heaves closing around my throat. My stomach folded on itself and tried to leap into my mouth. So I started walking.

Run until you puke or pass out. My rules. I guess dry heaving was close enough to buy me a block.

Once my temperature dropped a few degrees and the nausea retreated, I returned to my sad, slow run. I knew, by the point, I had to be close, and the course directors confirmed it. I was dying by the time I could see the finish. I had no sprint left in me, but when I saw 36 minutes on the clock, I gave it all I had.

My goal had been under 40 minutes (beating my Turkey Trot finish of just under 41). I made it in just over 37 minutes.

The time made all the pain (and dry heaving in the finish chute) totally worth it.