Oh yes, with my midwife' words "You're not going to be one of those I have to tell not to run a marathon?" rolling around in the back of my mind, I set out on my second ever half-marathon.
I was determined for it to be our first family "run," all four of us...
After a two-day drive down from Montana, miles of walking around the Vegas strip, and the ever-anticipated runners expo to stock up on freebies & new running gear, the evening finally arrived. It was Vegas' first ever nighttime marathon & half-marathon. Mike had Connor in the Little Life back carrier for but the first few miles. Shortly after the run-through wedding to re-new our vows at mile two, Connor got fussy. And who could blame him? This was not our usual routine. By now he'd be fed, bathed, and snuggling up to a warm mommy making his way to a blissful night's sleep.
But tonight was different. At 8pm we were closer to Fremont Street than a warm bed. At mile 5 or 6 he couldn't handle the back pack any longer. So into my arms he went, and there he stayed. Yes, for more than half of the half marathon, I carried him in my arms. I kicked myself for not bringing the front carrier earlier in our trip, and boy was I really feeling it now! We managed a few diaper changes (without pant removal- yes a skilled mommy knows how this can be successfully done), a couple pit stops for my poor squished soccer-ball-atop bladder, and we made it. But not before nearly having to fold at mile 11.
That's when the rain came. Which wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the wind. Our hotel was a hop over the barriers at this point, so inviting in all its neon glory. And yes, I considered crying, facing defeat at the weather expense. Frustrated that we had made it so far, yet were being forced to give in. But then the Heaven's opened and the rain & wind miraculously stopped. Two more miles. Two more miles with a baby in my belly and another clinging to my front. It was the perfect example of the gate theory, or a true testament to years of training. Nothing hurt. Not my back, not my feet, not even my arms.
Carrying him for that far, not having any pain. It was all crazy. Mind boggling even to me now.
Our half-marathon journey began at 3 that day. And it finally came to an end at midnight, after another long walk back to our hotel (Bally's) from Mandalay Bay. There were other marathoners and half-marathoners on the tram and walk back. The bummer of it all, was that they ran out of medals. So our triumphant crossing of the finish line was less than spectacular. By then the wind and rain had picked up again, too. So wet, cold, wind-blown, tired, but not defeated, our event ended rather uneventfully....until a very kind guy, Mark, started talking us up somewhere along the way back to the hotel and humbly submitted his medal to me. ME. Yes, I about cried again. This is a lot for a hormonal pregnant girl to process, after all. How could I accept his medal, his semblance of hard work and achievement, after knowing the endurance, stamina, and just plain guts it takes to complete such an event? He was insistant, however, and I finally was awarded my medal of accomplishment. ahhhhhh.
I have to say, though, I was slightly concerned for the day after...and even the day after the day after. I awoke at 3am that morning. Making my way to the loo, each leg felt like 500 pounds. Now, I was really scared. But when I got up at 7, it was as if nothing had happened. Save for the two tiniest of blisters under my second toes, there was no after math. The same for Mike. We both felt great. This was the real wow factor for me. Not only had we survived 13.1 miles of torture, we kicked its you-know-what. What a feeling!
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