The Flying Pig

This is a long over due post. (It's funny how sometimes you can think of absolutely nothing to blog about, and then suddenly - BAM! You have too many topics for one post. Like a random latex allergy popping up - thank you once again, crazy autoimmune system. And piles upon piles of caramelized onions. But more on that later.) Did you follow all that? Yeah, me neither.

Anyhoo, every year on the first weekend in May my hometown hosts a big race weekend. They have it all - from the whole shebang 26.2 mile marathon, a half, a team relay, a 10 k, a 5 k, and even kids runs. Now, I've run quite a few races, but this, my friends, is really the MOST FUN race out there. First of all, it's called The Flying Pig. Enough said right there, right? You cross "the finish swine" where folks dressed in pig costumes are calling out your name and cheering for you. Maybe I'm easily amused, but I find the whole thing a blast. I usually run this race with my dad every year, but this year a couple of my awesome girlfriends laced up their sneaks and ardently trained for their first 10K EVER! (I AM SO PROUD OF THEM!)

I'm not sure how in the world I convinced them to run with me. People always say to me, "The only way I'm running anywhere is if there is a bear behind me about to eat me." I'll admit, I feel pretty much the same way. I'm lazy. I like sitting on my couch. I HATE the gym. But I go - we'll say somewhat consistently. :) How in the world did I end up a "runner?" (I have to put that in quotes to differentiate me from REAL runners. Like, people who jog the race route to warm up for the race. People who know what their pace time is. People who do more than a fast shuffle step.)

This is the one thing in my life I can thank diabetes for.

I don't run because I love it. Some days it's all I can do just to take one slow step in front of the other. Some days I get fed up with all the planning that has to go into it. Did I start my temp basal rate on my pump 2 hours before I planned to run? Is my blood sugar high enough to start running? (I drop like a rock when I run, so for safety I have to start in the realm of 200.) Do I have my meter? And my glucose tabs? And my Dexcom? And my awesometastic early 90's fanny pack in which to carry it all? Can I juggle a finger stick without slowing down and without dropping everything?

But then you get to race day. If you're lucky like we were this year, the sun is shining and it's absolutely beautiful out. You are pounding the pavement with 2,442 of your newest friends.

And that's when it really hits me. Some call it a runner's high, I guess. But right in the middle of the race when I get my rhythm and my stride down, I feel - spiritual, as odd as that sounds. I feel close to God. Maybe because I'm free of all the everyday stuff? I don't really know. I think that some of the folks I was running near probably thought I was mental because I was so genuinely happy I actually started to cry. (I'm a loser. I already know, thanks. :) )

I run simply because I can.