I ran a 5K race this morning that handed me my own butt.
It was the inaugural trail run to benefit St. Jude's Hospital for children.
My dentist, Dr. Jimmy Gardiner, organized the race on his 600-acre farm nestled on Underwood Mountain.
Good Lord...I didn't know what I was in for.
When I signed up at his office after my check-up and cleaning, I figured it would be a nice change of scenery, since most of the 5K races that I've done involved pounding the pavement through various towns, past neighborhood homes and businesses.
Registration began at 5:30 a.m. (seriously?) for a 6:30 a.m. start time (most races start around 8 a.m.). Well, I couldn't find the registration tent anywhere. I had followed the directions to the farm, where I passed many campers and horses who were there for other scheduled festivities, until a woman drove up to me and told me to turn around and head back to the main road...registration would take place in front of the butcher shop. What?
But then again, I live in Alabama. Things are done differently here.
Uh oh. Now what? I noticed other people looking around, and saw some of the men heading toward trees, while some of the women stood with crossed legs and quizzical looks on their faces. The butcher shop wasn't open (too early), so I did what any self-respecting Southern woman would do in such a pressing situation -- I popped a squat between my car and the car parked next to me.
Of course, what showed up on someone's pick-up five minutes later? Figures.
We passed by all the campers and their horses (second time for me), and they cheered us on as we snaked our way toward the barn and the dirt trail. The first mile was slightly downhill. No problem. The second mile, however, began to challenge my ankles with its ruts and gravel. My lungs felt the challenge as well, as I huffed and puffed; the humidity was higher than average and it hit me hard (so, that's why the early start time!). The group started to break up; some moved ahead, some dropped back. I found myself alone as I rounded a bend in the woods, the trail heading straight toward a creek. I glanced around.
I hopped through the water like a gracefully-deficient antelope and found it refreshing on my hot feet. Onward I chugged, trying to catch my breath and find my pace, but the pockets of mud and the rocky grooves slowed me as my heart knocked at my ribs. What the hell did I get myself into?
And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the mountain appeared. The steep ascent awaited with its sneering smile. I staggered my way upward, stumbling over rocks, tripping over my own two feet, sweat stinging my eyes. But I knew I couldn't stop.
Finally, after putting myself through living hell, I reached the summit and spied the finish line. Those who finished ahead of me cheered me on with their applause. This gave me my last spurt of energy to cross the line. Halle-freaking-lujah! After a brief cool-down, I joined the sidelines to help cheer the others on to the finish.
I run these races to support various causes. Though they challenge me on a physical level, I know it is worth it in the long run. After I finished today's trail run, I thought, This has been one of the toughest races I've run in a very long time.
And then I thought of the kids in St. Jude's Hospital, facing the challenge of cancer. Nothing I went through today compares to what they are going through. My heart broke open with compassion. And if I can contribute in any way, I will, because these kids deserve healthy lives.
Would I put myself through this hell again to support them? You bet I would.