Today's race actually began yesterday afternoon when I picked up the girls and their bags at their house. After a supper of the traditional salmon fillet, the girls dumped out their bags: long sleeved and short sleeved tees, shorts, sweats, tights. About 8:15 p.m., Eliza (on the right in the photo) said, "Grammie, I think it's bedtime if we're going to get up at 6 tomorrow. Will you help me pick out my running clothes? What will the weather be?"We went online to weather.com. 38 degrees, possible rain. And then we went to the pile of gear on the floor. Short sleeves. No. Long sleeves, definitely. Shorts? No. Sweats. They'd get soggy, heavy, and very uncomfortable. I found Eliza's tights with "rhinestone" flowers at the hems.
"How about these?"
"Perfect."
Eliza pulled them on with her tee. Magdalena was already dressed in long tights and a couple sweaters. We made a pallet on the living room floor and settled down for sleep. (I always wear my race day clothes to bed the night before; then I don't forget anything or have to hunt for clothes on race day).
9:30 came and the girls were still wiggling and restless on the floor.
"Grammie. I can't sleep. I'll be too tired to run tomorrow," Eliza said.
"Oh you'll see. The energy will come with the excitement of the race."
I warmed up some milk. Both drank. Soon after, it seemed, the phone was ringing--my 6 a.m. wake up call. Just a touch to the girls' foreheads awakened them both. Atypical for me, I fixed them a light breakfast.
"Just enough to get you through the run," I said. "Not enough that you'll puke or have digestive issues. We'll have second breakfast when we get back."
At 6:55 a.m. I saw my friend and neighbor get in his car.
"Your chariot is coming, girls," I said.
We gathered up our race day bags--filled with dry shirts and water bottles. Then we piled us and gear into the car. At Plains Elementary school, after registering, potty breaks, and a few stride-outs, it was time to find our place in the pile of 55 runners.
I saw a pile of cocky boys. I gathered the girls and whispered softly, "See those boys over there? I have run a lot of races. Cocky boys start at the front, surge a few feet, and then slam on their brakes. Ignore them. Run your own race. And watch out for them; if they slam on their brakes in front of you they might trip you."
Eliza went to the front. Having run a 5K last fall, she knew her place. Magdalena and I went to the rear; she hadn't run more than two miles so I estimated that we would be walking some. I can't remember how the race started: a gun? a whistle? a command? But soon we were off. I was pushing a bit to keep up with Magdalena who was, however, heeding my warning to "pace yourself and run slow. This is a three-mile run, not a track event."
A few yards up the road I saw her mama with a camera alongside the road.
"There's your mama, Magdalena. Pull next to the shoulder. She wants your picture."
We waved at her, though her face was hidden behind her husband's professional camera. We turned a corner and less than a mile later passed cocky boys who were already walking. A slight hill lay ahead.
"You've never run hills before, Magdalena. You might have to slow a bit. Watch your breathing. Keep it steady even if it means slowing a bit."
Up the first hill, around some turns, and then there was a long, gentle slope. Magdalena lagged, but kept up the running motion. I slowed so as to not get too far ahead. When she caught up with me at the crest, I said, "Whew! That was tough. But you did it."
Every time I saw a course marshal, I pointed to Magdalena and hollered, "First 5K here."
All shouted encouragement and praise at the little one on her first 5K. And every time they praised, Magdalena slogged a little bit faster. Three times during our run, her little hand reached up and grabbed mine. So we ran a few steps holding hands. The third time I said, "Holding hands actually slows you down because you can't pump your arms. It's okay if you want to do it though. Whatever works for you." That was the last time she reached for me.
At the end Maggie slowed, almost to a walk. Our chariot driver was running our way, having already finished the race.
"You're not going to let that boy behind you beat you, are you?" he hollered.
Sure enough a boy behind us was gaining on us. Magdalena surged with a reserve I never dreamed she had. But both made a wrong turn. Since Maggie was ahead then, the boy got ahead when they U-turned. Magdalena never quite caught up with him. They raced to the finish line--him just a few seconds ahead.
"Between the cones, Maggie," I hollered.
She raced through and collapsed on the curb nearby. Mama raised her to her feet.
"You have to walk a bit, Maggie."
Maggie did. Now cold we all went inside to wait for the awards ceremony.
Eliza was the second in the K-5 group, the first female in the same group. Her time was 25:36. Magdalena came in at 3:34; my time was 30:49. Our chariot driver ran in 26:57. A neighbor sharing my apartment building took second overall with a time somewhere around 20 minutes. And a track club buddy took first.
After the awards ceremony, we all headed to my place for second breakfast: scrambled eggs, sweet rolls, milk, and coffee. And I remembered when my youngest daughter was little. After a fall, I walked with a limp and never thought I'd run again. Then there was the repeated bouts of bronchitis and lung issues. In those hard days, I never dreamed I would one day run with grandchildren. I have indeed been given a precious gift. A day to treasure.
