Thanks to all y’all for the kind words about my mid-April rocky stretch, where life’s wheels all came off at exactly the same time.

Some updates:

The Boy is less itchy; the Teen is less achy.

The Dog is still limping but improving.

My Mom is in a holding pattern — and if you know any good running routes/groups in the Lee, Fla., area, holler in the comments. I might be paying you a visit.

Arthur the Abscess remains my boon companion but, like the dog’s limp, is but a shadow of his former majesty. Right now, he resembles nothing more than a mega-zit and is fading every day.

Oh — and I ran the Pittsburgh Half Marathon with 39,999 of my closest friends.

IMG_3835

Shout out to BAMR Lydia for the awesome sign!

The Pittsburgh Half and I are in year three of our relationship. In 2014, it was the first 13.1 mile race I’d ever run. I chose it simply because, even though I haven’t lived in the Steel City for decades, I still think of it as home. Every time I go back, I wonder why I don’t live there still.

Frankly, my husband and I have pinky-sworn that if someone every randomly calls with a job offer for both of us, we’re packing up the kids and moving to the land of black and gold. We haven’t, however, gone so far as to actively look for jobs there, so the odds of that are very, very small. However, you are likely picking up what I’m putting down vis a vis Pittsburgh.

I digress.

One of my high school buddies — it is with her help that I managed to pass statistics — runs Pittsburgh every year. She has a loose plan to lace up her shoes until she simply can’t anymore. That is a plan I can get behind, even though there is a hill at mile 12 that is both cruel and unusual. The five bridges on the course make up for that blasted hill. Running across bridges always makes me feel like I’m getting away with something.

IMG_3833

Bridge #3 with me and Arthur.

In 2015, even knowing about the hill at mile 12, I decided that I would try to PR. It started well enough and I was able to hang with the 2:30 pace group. Then sun came out and I lost my will to live. I was in the pain cave for so long that I thought about decorating it. A coat of paint and a new lamp can really make a pain cave more liveable.

Which brings me around to this year. Given my general level of life implosion during the last couple of weeks and my experiential knowledge of how generally hilly the course is, I had zero speed goals going in. My one and only plan was to enjoy the experience in a city that I love.

I kicked the event off by womaning (with Heather and Abbie) the AMR booth at the Expo. So many ‘burgh BAMRs came by to visit and/or lend a hand that it made the general schelping of boxes 100 percent worth it. If that weren’t enough — and it totally was, mind — the local Greyhound rescue was wandering the Expo floor with some of their charges. A pup named Ellie took a liking to me and would nose her way over whenever she and her person passed nearby. I knew my routine of keeping chunks of chicken in my pocket would pay off someday.

IMG_3849

My cousin took this somewhere in the Strip District. Yes, I do have freakishly long arms.

Sunday morning dawned with rain. The only unpleasant part of the race was waiting in Corral D — the Corral of Reasonable Expectations — for the start of the race. Something about the combo of being crushed up against that many other people so far from the starting line while being soaking wet just rubbed on my last nerve. By the time my cohort crossed the timing mat, I was ready to bite my fellow runners. I took off way too fast just to get away from everyone.

No, not the smartest move I’ve ever made but I also didn’t get arrested for assault. Being an adult means choosing the hill you want to die on.

The worst of the rain and my rage had passed by mile two. My focus turned to upping my fun levels. I decided to take a selfie on every bridge. I high-fived just about every person who stuck his or her hand out. I did my best to absorb as much as I could, like the elderly African American man at mile 4.5 or so who just kept smiling at all of the runners streaming past and saying, “Hallelujah, babies.” While I got to the top of the hill at mile 12, I slowed down to simply take in a view of the city that you can only see whizz past while flying down the road at significant rates of speed in your car.

IMG_3841

If you have the opportunity to shoot a selfie with a dude in a banana suit, do that.

The best part, however, were those brief moments where I got to see people I knew. My Dad, a cousin, and his wife popped up twice. Heather and Abbie yelled out my name after the second bridge. I’ve yet to figure out why those micro-seconds of seeing someone you know are like a hit of rocket fuel but, maybe, they are one of those parts of life that will always be a mystery.

IMG_3843

Runner of Steel, with cookie.

In short, I achieved my goal. I’ll be back next year to execute the same plan.

Screen Shot 2016-05-02 at 5.32.44 PM

I suspect I’ll finish in 2:50 or so.

 

Running the same race year after year gives you a chance to really know the course. For me, this is a good thing. For others, it’s a snooze. Are there any races you run every year? Or are you a one-and-done kinda gal?