Nebulous Mooch

Since my father turns 80 this week my mother thought it would be fun for us all to run a 5K race together. Here the term run loosely means walk at a slow to moderate pace. The race started at 8 in the morning which was a struggle for us because my husband and I don’t get up until 9:30.

When my sister called the day before the race to find out what time it started she was shocked by the early hour and asked to speak to me on the phone. “When I agreed to this no one told me that I’d have to get up that early on a Saturday,” she said.

She was ready bright and early the next day though. We put on our matching race t-shirts, pinned paper numbers to our stomachs and headed for the start line. The runners all got to the front of the group and the walkers were to the back. When the starter’s pistol fired everyone took off running. “Why is everyone running? You told me we could walk,” my sister said. We almost got trampled by a herd of middle-aged people in running shorts and Nikes.

Once the stampede cleared we were free to have a peaceful walk at the back of the pack. Luckily, my sister’s iPhone was not cooperating with her so she had to talk to us instead of listening to music. My sister is a public defender so she has a lot of scary stories about the adventures of her clients. Outrageous tales of robbery, drug dealing and assault can be so entertaining that the first mile just flew by.

At the half-way point people cheered us on and gave us cups of water. “Why isn’t this coffee? At this hour they should be handing out coffee,” my sister said.

Despite stopping to pick up flyers from houses that were for sale along the route and taking pictures of cats in trees we weren’t the last people to finish the race. There was actually a group of people behind us. My mother was hoping my father would win for his age group just because he would be the only person in the 80 and over group. Unfortunately, a group of buff 80 year-olds showed up in short shorts and sweat bands and they ran the whole race.

My husband who is incredibly competitive would probably want me to tell you that he ran the race. Then he came back to cross the finish line with us even though he’d already finished the race. Anyway, here’s the photo of me completing my first leisurely 5K.

When we started running toward the finish line, my sister said, “What’s with this running? You told me I wouldn’t have to run.”

“We always run over the finish line,” my mother said. So we ran and we finished. Than we ate a not very good breakfast at a restaurant near the finish line.

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