South Davis Rec Center Thanksgiving Day Turkey Trot 5k 2011

I know, this is what you've been waiting to hear all about for the last week. You've been checking every day, at least 3 times, to see if I've recapped it yet. You've cursed at your computer and shook your fist in frustration that I haven't written anything yet.

Well folks, here we go. Buckle your seatbelts, because this is a long ride you're settling in for.

Last Thursday, I participated in the South Davis Recreational Center Thanksgiving Day Turkey Trot 5k.

And I ROCKED IT!

Despite not running - at all - in the last month before Thanksgiving (and let's be honest, not running much in the time before that anyway...), I was rather proud of this 5k performance. It was really quite a blast - I ran with my brother Ben, his wife Laura, and their oldest daughter Emilie aka "Speed Demon." 

When I looked up the race course when we first signed up, I was both excited and disappointed. Excited because I knew the course; I had run those roads often (infrequently) when I was living at home in Utah - the rec center's about 5 or so blocks from my house. Disappointed because I realized that in all that time, I had only run 3.1 miles maybe 2 or 3 times. When I would run parts of that course, I only ran part of it...so I probably was only running 2 miles most days. But hey, I run for time, not distance - what fits in my 20 minutes is all I can get myself to do most times.

Of course, our running in the race almost didn't happen. First, Ben's running shoes got "left" behind in Iowa (Ben claims it was a packing accident, but I wasn't buying that at first...), and then Wednesday night came so quickly and tiringly, we weren't sure we'd be able to get up and going for the 9am start. But luckily, when I arrived in Utah Wednesday evening, Ben had his NEW running shoes on his feet, breaking them in, and after we powered through some short but effective family time, we made it to bed at a decent enough hour that made it possible for us to all get up at 8 and be out of the house by 8:30.

 It was a brisk Thursday morning in Utah (while DC enjoyed balmy 60 degree weather...boo), but not as cold as I had expected - it actually turned out to be perfect running temperatures. I wasn't ever hot, but I didn't feel noticeably cold while I ran ever. I stayed cool, but not cold. Anyway...moving on. They started the race a good 20 minutes late, and when it finally started - after I'd already warmed up and had then sufficiently cooled down (apparently, I do cool dance moves to warm up; Ben just hunches over a bit; Laura mentally warms up - see picture below) - there was no powerful gunshot. Just the mass of people ahead of me moving forward. Until we in the back got close to the starting line, of course; then the fire truck honked its mighty horn - you know, to let us know the race had already started...sheesh.

Ben, Laura, Emilie (who opted to join the adults in the 5k instead of running the 1k Gobbler on her own), and I stuck together in a pack for a good 800-1200 meters, pushing each other forward with shouts of weariness and cries of cramping. Despite our comments that we fully intended to stick all together and just have fun with the race, Ben and I had confounded Laura the night before with talks of still winning our respective age and/or weight groups, not to mention winning the entire race. She also kept trying to remind us it was a "Fun Run," to which Ben would remind her that it was a "turkey trot" - "fun run" was never part of the name. Apparently, she doesn't realize that the Barlow competitive bone runs deep, even driving us to win races we don't even really want to run. Ben hadn't run in, oh, 15 years? And he still had plans of taking people down through the whole 5k. I was already feeling the weight of my legs, but I pictured myself leaving everyone in my dust. Dreams become reality sometimes, you know. 

But after that first 800 meters or so, Emilie, the speed demon, was looking a little overcome by the longest race of her life (so far), and Laura, being the kind mother she is, wondered if she might like to stop and walk a bit, so Emilie could catch her breath while wrapping her mind around this incredible distance she had in front of her. Emilie consented, and Laura waved Ben and me off to continue our quest for glory. So Ben, the former state cross-country and track champion, and I, the girl who wanted to play volleyball but ran cross-country instead, moved forward, stepping up our pace just a wee bit to get some distance from the girls (I think mainly to not be embarrassed that we were killing ourselves running, just to have the girls walking 10 feet behind us the whole time). 

When we made it to the one-mile mark, we both celebrated and cried (figuratively, not literally...although it was a little cold, so maybe some tears fell out of my eye). At one point, I whined to Ben, "Remember when we liked running?" He quickly responded with a breathless, "NO," and kept his eyes up the street. I recalled my life as a 10 year old, truly enjoying running. I'd beat my dad around the track and love the feeling. Which I guess actually explains my competitiveness more than my love for running. I don't really have any more recent memories of really loving running though, so it will have to do. Meanwhile, Ben claimed he never loved running, and I completely sympathized.

I tried to give Ben a play-by-play of each part of the course, being familiar of the slight, imperceptible to the eye (but not to the body), uphill on one road, and the boring nature of another. When he hit the 2 mile mark, I was able to point out how far we had left in front of us by the number of streetlights there were to run through. I always prefer knowing just how much longer I have left to run.

Finally, around the 2.5 mile mark, Ben's legs could take it no longer and he had to walk for a bit to stretch them out. He bid me farewell and sent me on my way, and I now found myself near the end of my mythological quest, losing my allies early, and finally my mentor, to endure the final stretch of my test alone. Now the heroine  (the person, not the drug. Are you crazy?!) would find out if she (I) could fulfill her (my) destiny and reach the end of her (my) course.

And I did {Spoiler Alert!!!}. Was that anticlimactic enough for you?

When Ben sent me onward, I picked up my speed, again to get some distance so I wouldn't be embarrassed when the guy walking caught back up to me. Plus, I really like passing people, AND I hate being stuck behind people, having them dictate my pace. I hate that in everyday life, so I definitely can't stand it in a race. So when I came up behind a group of 1 or more persons, I generally tried to pass them and get to the space ahead of them. Which works really well at the end of a race because it gets you to the end faster. My favorite part was probably when I passed two volunteers with just about 600 meters left to run. All the other volunteers on the course had been super energetic young guys and girls, cheering us on and pushing us to keep going. And yet these two volunteers gave me the biggest push when they said, in very monotone, emotionless voices, "You're almost there. Truly, you're almost at the end." 

It was the "Truly" that got me. They couldn't be lying. You can't speak falsely when saying "truly." Plus I knew the course, remember? So I already knew I was "truly" almost there. But their desire for me to be done (along with everyone else) so they could go home and enjoy their Thanksgiving in a warm house with people they actually knew motivated me to get moving and get their jobs over with! So I started kicking my legs a little higher and pumping my arms a little more. I stretched my long legs as I hit the ever-so-slightly-downhill that I knew was coming around the corner, barely evaded the woman with the baby stroller and her little boy who DIDN'T know how to walk in a straight line, and basically flew down the stretch to the finish line.

I'm a sprinter, not a distance runner. Give me that last 400 meters and I'm happy. I whiz past people as my spare tank of energy pushes me to that sweet, sweet finish line. It's the glory spot of the race, and I love it dearly.

Of course, I must've run the whole race so quickly because my father, the paparazzi, was not prepared for my grand entrance. It took me calling to my little niece Claire, his photo assistant, who was not looking at me at all, for my dad to realize I was right in front of him. So this is all we get of my magnificent finish:

(Psst - behind the tree...look closer...yup, those two legs and one arm are mine! About to pass that woman and her leg at the very left of the picture)

Part of my face, smiling at least (the race did not defeat me; I defeated the race), and me behind a tree - at least it's covering my backside. Positives!

(Claire, assistant to "the Pap," helping him test out the light by being basically adorable)

Of course, my favorite picture caught by "the Pap" (it's funny because it's short for paparazzi, but also because it's another, slightly hillbilly, name for dad, and dad was the paparazzi - get it?!) is this one:

(Please notice me feeling quite rested at this point, and notice Ben, or his back, as he crosses the finish line behind me)

The shot that proves that I really did beat my older brother, Ben, the former state cross-country/track champion. That's right. For the first time in my life, I bet my brother. I'm so glad it was so well documented. It's also documented in our times - I finished roughly 3 minutes before Ben did. He tried to kick it into high gear at the end, but he couldn't catch the wisp of speed that was me in front of him. 

But in the end, we're all winners, right? Because we made it through that deceptively difficult race. And we got medals - and only winners get medals:

Laura and Emilie came down the stretch just 10 minutes later, in beautiful form. And Laura taught Emilie the valuable lesson that even people who talk about just having a lot of fun during a race and taking it easy still turn competitive in the end - she outstretched Emilie right at the finish line. Emilie can't grow up thinking she'll automatically win everything; she's got to earn it. It's a good life lesson I try to teach all children when we play games. 

But as Emilie once so eloquently reminded us all, "Barlows always try their very hardest to do their very best," and we were all so proud of our accomplishment - having dominated the Thanksgiving Day Turkey Trot 5k. 

 (that's a look of pure joy on little Emilie's face if I ever saw one)

Plus, I ran sub-10 minute miles, finished ahead of more than 1/2 of the field of runners, and placed 9 in my very competitive age group. Just sayin'. 

GOOOOOOOOO BARLOWS!