I ran my first 10K race yesterday. I loved every minute of it. More than the 5K, I have to admit. Much, much more. This race was in my city and the weather was perfect, albeit a bit on the humid side, but after the winter we had I am NOT going to complain.
My neighbor offered me a ride early so I took it and spent two hours alone, watching the crowds build and taking in all the sights. It was glorious, really, to be alone with my thoughts as I watched other runners preparing for their race. At atmosphere was friendly and cordial. Everyone had smiles on their faces.
As my start time loomed, I felt the familiar grumblings of nerves in my stomach but I was also just happy to be running again. I had taken the previous three days off to rest my legs and it was the smartest move I made. As I crossed the start line and started running, I could tell within a few minutes that my legs were happy and this was going to be a great run. I kept to a comfortable pace and at the first kilometer marker I decided to keep running and made a split-second decision to alter my plain. Normally I would have run intervals of 1 km running to 100 m walking but my legs felt strong, so I pushed myself and took walk breaks every 2 km.
1-3km. There was a beautiful cool breeze and as I found my pace, I just took everything in and watched others ahead of me. I had to weave a bit as I passed slower runners and a few walkers.
3-7km. I was starting to get hot. The breeze died and the air was thick. At the 4 km water station I saw a fire hydrant had been turned on and other runners were going through it. YES! I ran over to it and cooled down instantly. It was a glorious feeling. I got some water, drank some of my own Gatorade from my belt and kept going.
7-10km. Starting to get a bit tired. I kept my walk intervals consistent every 2 km and knew that if I kept it up I would finish strong. As I approached the 9km marker I honestly started looking for the finish shoot but it was out of my line of sight. My legs were tired but I knew I had a little more in them to push on and I went through the finish line with my arms up high and felt stronger than ever. What a great feeling!!!
I found my family and got big hugs and kisses and we walked over to the medal area. I frantically searched for my chip time and was thrilled. I really couldn’t have asked for a better day.
I woke up today with very sore quads and calves. Sore in that way you know you went out and gave it your all. I will take a few days off to rest and consider what’s next. 15k? 21.1? It all seems more possible now.
For the past few nights, our oldest son has asked not to wear a diaper at nighttime. He will be 4 years old in April. Husband and I haven’t really encouraged the no diaper at bedtime mostly because we don’t really want to deal with the potential mess the next morning.
In fact, it was his preschool teacher who told us that he was dry during the day and was using the bathroom with the other kids. She asked that we don’t send him in pull-ups anymore. This was about 4-5 months ago.
Anyway, last night this was my conversation with my son.
As I’m trying to get him to take off his underwear so I can put a diaper on:
Him: “No, Mommy. No diaper.”
Me: “Yes, honey. What if you make a pee at nighttime?
Him: “But I don’t, mommy! I don’t pee in my bed.”
Me: “Is your diaper dry when you wake up in the morning?”
Me: “And then you make a pee in the diaper?”
Him: “No” (His diaper is usually full in the morning, so I’m not entirely sure he understood what I was asking.) “Mommy, big boys and big girls don’t wear diapers at nighttime. I’m a big boy now.”
How could I argue with a statement like that?
He went to the bathroom, made a big boy pee and we put him to bed in his underwear. (We also put a towel underneath him and his mattress also has a waterproof cover so in the event of an accident we’d likely be okay.)
This morning, despite the time change, everyone woke up at 7:30am. Husband called out to son, “Did you pee in your underwear?” The answer back, a proud “No!!”. “Go make a pee then,” husband said.
Frankly, I was quite surprised. I didn’t think he was ready but that little boy proved me wrong. As a reward, I made pancakes for breakfast this morning.
Clearly I’m too busy trying to take a photo to enforce table etiquette rules.
a high or inordinate opinion of one’s own dignity,importance, merit, or superiority, whether as cherished in the mind or as displayed in bearing, conduct, etc.
the state or feeling of being proud.
a becoming or dignified sense of what is due to oneself or one’s position or character; self-respect; self-esteem.
pleasure or satisfaction taken in something done by or belonging to oneself or believed to reflect credit upon oneself: civic pride
something that causes a person or persons to be proud: His art collection was the pride of the family
Every parent is proud of their kid. I certainly am. My daughter will be 4 years old in November and I’m already proud of everything she does. I am proud that she can write her name. I am proud that she can put on her shoes, take her clothes on and off without help, and do her business in the potty without supervision.
I am also proud to bring her to our city’s gay pride parade and see nothing but pure joy on her face at all the people dancing in the city and having fun. She doesn’t know yet that there are people in this world who are prejudiced, who do not tolerate those that are different.
She is growing up learning that not only can a boy and girl get married, but so can two boys and so can two girls.
I take pride in the fact that I am raising my children to love everyone equally; to not be afraid of those who are different, and to embrace the rainbow they carry within them.