I started out the long Thanksgiving weekend doing something unusual. I ran by myself.
Wednesday, the boys and I jumped in the car around 8:30 in the morning and headed an hour east to visit some friends who had recently moved. After a very full morning of stick hunting, playgrounds and football, I loaded everyone back up around 1 pm to head back home. I was well aware that the ride back could be dicey since the ride over was perfect. I was unfortunately not mistaken. The 3-yo tormented the baby in every way his 3-yo mind could think of. And the baby screamed in his best, highest pitched scream back at the 3-yo for THE.ENTIRE.RIDE. The 5-yo and 7-yo tried to play DJ from the third row (read: they request channel changes a thousand times until they find something they like) and argued over things like football pillows and who would get the last piece of gum. By the time we actually arrived back in town, it's safe to say that I had officially gone mad. I frantically steered the ole wagon directly to my parents' house, who had graciously invited everyone over to bake Thanksgiving treats. I dropped the kids off for some serious grandparent bonding and got back into my car, turned the radio off and relished the complete silence. The weather was beautiful and I decided that instead of doing laundry when I got home (because I have heard a rumor that laundry will wait), I would go out and grab a few miles to enjoy one of the last tastes of warm weather we'd probably get for a while. My first mile was slow, but as the miles increased, so did the pace and I started to unwind and enjoy myself. It was the first run where I had been able to push myself since the marathon and boy, did I need it. I was enjoying myself so much, I hardly realized when 3 miles turned to 4 turned to 5 turned to 6. I arrived home, sweaty and a little less frantic than I had been hours earlier.
Thursday, my running posse was hitting the streets for a 6 am run to pre-burn turkey calories. I, however, had to be home by 6:30 to prepare for a big out and back Turkey Day Trip, so I opted instead for a 5:30 start, catching the "posse" for a mile or two in the middle. Now, usually, when I run at 5:30 by myself, I'm anxious - peering around my shoulder for attackers, listening for rogue cars, animals or paper people. But, today, I was at ease. The streets were completely empty. I defiantly rolled my eyes at the rustle of leaves that would normally cause me to jump and cranked up the Mumford & Sons station on Pandora as loud as it would go. No headphones. Just loud, soulful music, filling up the empty and now, cold air. I ran at a slower pace, clearing my mind of the events of the week and letting their memories slowly fill back into my heart, offering me new perspective and putting a smile on my face. My feet fell into rhythm with the music and I lost myself in its lyrics, in almost a dream-like state. I was awoken when I walked in the door to little voices yelling "Happy Thanksgiving!" and asking how long it would take to get to South America (we were going to South Carolina).
My running "posse" is my life line. They push me and keep me going and I love every run with them. But, sometimes? Sometimes, you need a good solo run. A good solo run can be good for the soul.
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