Banged out another Turkey Trot at the Mystic YMCA. We’re at a weird place in our lives – boys are 17 and 14, oldest leaves for college next year. No company at Thanksgiving this year, interesting spot.
Melissa’s not running this year. Which is an amazing thing – she’s qualified for Boston last Sunday at Philly. She is radiant – it’s a weight off her shoulders that she’s been carrying through several unsuccessful attempts and struggles with injury.
Perfect day – 30, sunny, no wind. The race is PACKED – it’s gone from a small group waiting for a guy with a megaphone to say “go” to a “Girls on the Run” arch at the start/finish. Nice t-shirts today; a comfy cotton-poly blend that will actually get worn.
I don’t see the boys after the start – J is running with some of his high school XC buddies, and N – well, like usual, he’s off in his own world. I started too far back in the scrum – took almost a mile to get some running space; but that’s OK.
About the first mile, I watch the leaders run back the other way – M, who’s at a service academy; D, who’s going to captain the high school XC team next year, with C, who’s going to be crushing school records when he gets to HS next fall hot on his heels. It’s kind of fun, since I can remember all of these guys as tiny kids pumped to make it to the mile turn around; then as elementary school kids finishing the 5K for the first time. Now they’re burning it up before turkey.
I don’t dip this year, since I’m still phleghmy from having the flu last weekend; but J does, so I loan him the