Life has been happening at an astounding pace. Nothing overly important, just life being what it is. Laundry and groceries and tidying the house and playing princess and dinner with friends and everything else.
Sunday I ran my third race: the Port to Fort 6k. It was my longest race (and nearly my longest ever run, ever, in my life), and a fabulous time. I mean that in two ways - I had a blast running it, and I ran it really fast!
33:50 for 3.75 miles.
I was satisfied at the first mile when they called out 10:02 - I adjusted for the time it took to get over the start, and knew I was under a 10 minute mile; right on pace and I felt great. I was slightly surprised at the 2 mile mark when I heard 19:12. I still felt great - and the route was gorgeous. I was astounded at the 3 mile mark, when I was hoping to be under 30 minutes... I thought I was hearing 29 over and over... when I really crossed the 3 mile mark at 28 minutes even! So when I finished the race five minutes later, with a great kick, and still a little to spare, I was amazed at how well I had done, and so very proud of myself.
And also sad and lonely. Because this race, as fun as it was to run, was one I drove myself to, waited by myself to start, and had no one to greet me at the finish. I signed up for it with no expectations of running with a friend. And it was really lonely. I basically crossed the finish, texted everyone my fabulous splits, ate a banana... and wandered back to my car. I was home and showered by 9:30 am.
I don't have any more races lined up. I'm looking for another - it's just more fun running before work when I'm training for something. And the races themselves give me such a feeling of pride. But I do not want to run another race alone. I felt so lonely watching everyone else mingle and laugh and cheer - I want that feeling, too!