The Meh Race 3

In a weird weather twist a la last year, I “slept” to the sound of thunder rumbling across the plains, (not just the Thunder winning the first game in their series with Dallas) praying for clear morning skies and a few minutes of actual sleep. I suppose I had some, because my running partner and sleeping mate had the same experience and I did not hear her pacing around in the dark.

My fourth half marathon, second in OKC. Starting to get the hint from our fair city to the west. Although I won’t complain; it was about 25 degrees warmer than the torture fest of last year. We ┬ámade a point to visit the bombing memorial after the race, and not just because we couldn’t find the car.

But it was, on the whole, weird. I still can’t quite put my finger on why the character of this race seems so intangible. It wasn’t bad. It certainly wasn’t spectacular. It just…was.

My times were okay. I felt okay. The running banter was good. (she does need some new jokes, though.) The crowd was fabulous, despite the drizzle. (A moment here to say you people in OKC know how to party.) I just didn’t feel … It.

I am balancing, waffling, teeter tottering about the whole thing. On the one hand, I knew I needed to treat it like a nice, slow taper run. On the other hand, I wanted to kick asphalt. I felt fine. Then I felt cranky. I wanted to be there, I was irritated. I liked listening to the other runners, then I wanted to flick some of them in the throat.

My husband, lucky man that he is, got to hear, gets to hear, all of this search for meaning. He says smart things, like, “remember why you run,” and “it’s an investment,” and “maybe the meaning is that you did it.”

He’s a wily one, that man. Turning all my gnashing and recrimination into theories writ chalk dust.

There doesn’t need to be a high and mighty truth. It didn’t have to be perfect. It just had to happen. And by the end of today, I will probably feel like the Queen of the hill. Until I don’t. And so it goes.