I got myself into a little bit of hot water over Christmas. We were sitting around with Mike's family in a beautiful cabin in Gatlinburg, chatting and enjoying each others' company, and my brother-in-law's girlfriend mentioned that she and her sister were coming up to Nashville to run the half-marathon in April. Feeling bold (and apparently suicidal) I shot my mouth off and said something about running it too. Mike held me to it, and the next thing I know, I'm training for it and he has signed me up. He's been running a lot, too, but he won't be in the race ("Who's going to hang out with the kids and bring your chocolate milk to the finish?").
Every time Mike or I go out for a run, Sarah begs to go with us. She'll hold onto our legs so tight, we need a shoehorn to pry her off, or she'll jump into our arms and suction herself to us with her arms and legs like a starfish.
When I was shopping for new running shoes, she decided she needed "super-fast running shoes" too. Even though mine are hot pink, "Sequins are faster, Mommy,".
This past weekend, Mike took Sarah for a run down our street and back, and, for me, it was one of those mental picture moments. Grinning from ear to ear, chattering as they ran, and giving Will and me high-fives when they finished: pure joy.
After Mike and Sarah finished their run, she said they were "running twins". That made me jealous. My current race-day goals consist of: (1) Don't get passed by an 80-year-old, and (2) Don't throw up. But, I think I'll add one more: Make my family proud.