As part of Maple Grove Days, I did a 3.7-mile run around Rice Lake with mom and dad yesterday morning. I was reminded of how important running mates are. Mom is not slow by any means. In fact, she probably could have easily come in first for the almost-50-year-old moms running (if we were competing, that is). But she is a bit slower than dad and me. So the two of us took turns running next to her. We had a nice running-mate system worked out.
A few weeks ago, I ran in an 8K with one of my best friends. Shortly after starting, he fell. As in, to-the-ground, skin-the-palm-of-your-hand fell. My first thought was one of panic! This can’t be good because he recently had a cast on his leg from a rugby injury. So something must have happened to that leg. Well, within seconds, I discovered that nope…he had, in fact, just tripped on his shoelace, and I busted out laughing as I reached down to help him up (and I chuckle again as I write this). I hope he found some solace in the fact that it was me running next to him. Just me. We’ve known each other for years and years; there’s little, actually probably nothing, either one of us can do in front of each other that would embarrass us. Now, can you imagine if he had been alone? If he hadn’t had such a cool running mate like myself? How do you casually get up from tripping on your shoelaces and carry on alone? I don't think it can be done. At least with a friend, you can laugh together.
And the thing is, I haven’t always had running mates. When I first moved to California I didn’t really have mates period. To occupy some time I started running some local 5Ks (and secretly I always hoped I’d run into—quite literally I guess—a very good-looking single male runner, which, of course, never happened). I signed up for one that was sponsored by some hot-shot running club in the area. I got up early that Saturday morning, cursing myself that it had been MY idea to set my alarm for 6am on a Saturday in order to RUN! With eyes only half open, I pulled my running stuff on, brushed my teeth, threw my hair in a pony tail and left. As soon as I arrived, I knew this wasn’t like the Turkey Trot or Blubber Run where you’ve got all shapes, sizes and speeds running and/or walkng--the ones that are all-family events. Nope. This one was hard-core. As I walked to the registration table, these runners were doing breathing exercises, like I imagine you do in Lamaze classes. They had special stop watches on, the perfect breathable sports bras (not the cheap ones from Target), and they were doing stretches like I had never seen before. So I registered and then kind of walked aimlessly through the crowd wondering what I should do to look somewhat cool (in case that good-looking single guy was nearby). But, my gosh, I thought, I don’t even have a special place for my keys! I’m one of the runners that just carries her car keys during the run! So, I decide I’ll do some casual stretches, even though I never really stretch before runs. I bend over and am touching the ground with my legs spread out wondering where the closest coffee shop is when all of sudden…I see a bulge, a big lump, coming out the back of my thigh. Like maybe the size of a lemon. I quickly look around to see if anyone is looking at or pointing at this bulge, perhaps feeling sorry for that poor runner—me—who must have some sort of illness and yet has the determination to run 5Ks. But then more importantly, my little wheels were spinning spinning trying to figure out what the heck this bulge is! I bend back down and nonchalantly touch it, and nope, it wasn’t a part of me. It didn’t have any feeling sensations. So, I casually jog over to a tree as if I’m just warming up like everyone else. As quickly as I can, I jam my hand into my pants, and there in broad daylight, with runners all around, I’m holding a pair of my black underwear. Yup. While I was still half-asleep, I had unknowingly put on my black, tight, yoga-like capris on that morning with an extra pair of underwear stuck in them. I should have just thrown the underwear into the bushes, but that’s wasteful. This was a perfectly good pair of underwear. So, I quickly made a fist with them, smooshing them into the smallest ball possible. I hurriedly ran this pair of underwear back to my car and managed to make it to the starting line in time. But at this point, I was fighting tears, feeling sorry for myself…I was stuck in California, away from family and friends, running a race alone in some unknown park, with a bunch of strangers who are probably now wondering what happened to my bulge, or maybe why I was hiding behind the tree before the race! If I had had a running mate though: 1. They would have told me something was stuck in my pants before I even left the house, hopefully. And 2. If they somehow missed the bulge before we walked out the door, he or she would have at least helped me laugh at my dorkiness at the scene of the crime.
So, anyways, running mates. They’re important. And as I ran yesterday, I was thankful that since I have moved back to Minnesota, I haven’t ran a race alone.
And a shout-out to Jack Swanson for taking the picture above...some of my favorite running mates.
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