Effort

Thursday night was a first for our family. It was the first time Alan and I ever raced together. We returned to Mt. Crags for the third week in a row to have a stab at the Malibu Trail Series 5K. The last two weeks were a blast. I never got a chance to write about last Thursday night's race -- due to a combination of sleep deprivation, family visiting and trying to keep up with the moment -- but it was equally as great as the first one. I was fortunate to finish first for the women again and better my time by about 40 seconds.

Last night was not unlike the other two races: same course, many of the same faces, same deer sauntering through the streets. Yet, it was very different. Different in that way that you can't pinpoint or verbalize, but simply feel. I got to run with a partner last night. With Alan. I realized this morning that it was our first running race together. I suppose that was the feeling - the feeling of firsts. Sometimes it's hard to have "firsts" when you have been together with someone for 8 years. But when you do, you better recognize them and celebrate them, because what is life without some novelty? Last night we celebrated with 1st in the team category - "Team Jacobsen" and 3rd and 4th overall with identical times. Not a bad date night.

Post-race dancing and running around!

My parents were in town and so they eagerly accepted babysitting duty. It is rare that I give up any time with Isaac and they were excited to have some alone time with the little guy, plus watch the girls run around like crazy on the obstacle course and playgrounds.

Like I said, Alan and I finished with identical times. In the week prior to the race we had joked a lot about whom was going to beat whom. I was sure Alan would finish ahead of me, yet he seemed nervous that he wouldn't be able to keep up. When registering, the new trail runners I had befriended through this trail series were poking fun and asked, "So are you going to chick him?"

In all honesty we weren't really sure how it would play out. The thing is, I train hard, I do mile repeats, long runs and I'm out there 6 days/week running my butt off. I take running seriously, as I do with most other things. Why waste your time and not try your best, right? Of course I do it all for fun but still, I'm intense. Alan runs about 1 day/week after work. His hours in the office and lab are long enough already and our sleep is little with three kids (last night they woke up 5 times combined...5 times.. you can't make this stuff up) so he has very little time for anything during the week but tries to squeeze in a 20 minute run after work occasionally. Saturdays and Sundays he chooses the bike, in between fatherly duties. Yet, his fitness is incredible. I am continually impressed by this man I married and his multi-faceted talents. Thursday night he pushed me, running side-by-side and encouraging me to stay with him on the climbs. We did it, together.

Thursday night's race felt hard. Again. Each of the past two weeks on the trail I have been convinced  that my time is going to be much slower than the previous one. This hurts, I'm thinking, as I pull my body uphill. Then the questions begin to surface. Why am I doing this? Why do we do this? Why do we put ourselves through such pain? For what? I don't have to run hard, I don't have to push myself, yet I do. Week after week. It's a competition, with myself, against myself, if not anyone else. The second place woman has not been within sight for the past couple of weeks. I know that I can let up, run a little easier yet still finish first for the girls. Something won't let me. That little voice in my head won't let me. I think it has to do with the effort involved in getting us to the race. It is one thing when you're doing this all alone. It is another all together when you have to organize your entire day around making it to a 3.1 mile race with your three kids in tow. The amount of prep work is laughable -- packing up extra clothes and PJ's, cooking and wrapping up snacks, dinner and every other little thing x 3 that someone might need (like, really need, or a Cesia throw down, toddler tantrum occurs) during our afternoon at gymnastics then straight to the race and then straight to bed.

Notice the arched back, head thrown up in the air?

Apparently I wasn't pushing Dictator Cesia high enough.

Then comes actually getting out the door and into the car. Last Thursday we left our front door at 2:00pm to load into the minivan. Oh, we're going to be so early to gymnastics, I thought. We pulled out of the driveway at 2:30pm. No joke. It took 30 minutes to get from the door out of the driveway. Mysteriously we lost 30 minutes of our life loading into that van. It's like a trap, which is why I'm so crazy about that triple jogger for short commutes. So when I'm suffering through mile #2, begging my legs to keep up their pace, I am reminded of the fact that we are here, that we made it here and I had better appreciate it. I had better take full advantage of it and run my heart out. Life is not to be wasted.

What motivates you when you are out there pushing hard? Where do you get your extra motivation? How do you get out the door? Because really, that is the hardest part. But life is worth the extra effort.