above pic: just beyond the finish line
Saturday morning, I jogged through my first 10K. I know that there are women out there that run marathons while pregnant, and the 6.2 miles that I got through would be nothing for them. But it was far from nothing for me. At 35 weeks pregnant, it was one of the greatest physical challenges I've ever experienced. I loved/hated every second of it.
When it was over, I compared the mental challenge of finishing to that of labor. It was such a mind game, and I moved much slower than I would have in a non-pregnant state. But I finished it.
I prayed through much of the race. There was a man that we passed at around mile 1 and then again at around mile 5, a Christian R & B singer/rapper, singing and preaching to the crowd. When we passed him at mile 5, he was shouting, "the joy of the Lord is your strength", over and over. Thank you, God, for that man!
There is something divine about the fact that Friday was one of those, "I give up; I can't do this" days in which Greg came home to a crying wife. God knows. Because Saturday, as I crossed the finish line, I was close to tears. I did it. I can do it. Thank you, Jesus!
I'm not sure what meant the most...
that I finished it at all, baby lodged between my hips the whole time,
that one of our closest friends drove an hour to be a good sport & run along with us,
that Greg (a total non-runner, always hated it) remained at my side the whole time, even though, after weeks of training, he could have left me in his dust,
or that my Emily, 10, ran it and totally kicked my butt, beating me by seven minutes. *so proud*
I'm just happy to relive those last ten seconds of sprinting (as close to sprinting as I can) to the finish line, feeling Greg slip behind me on purpose to let me cross first. And then his arm around me...
We did it.