Amy Hafer Race

June 23, 2011

Woke up at 8:00 after eight hours of sleep. Supposed to be at the Wallowa Valley Memorial Hospital at 8:45. Made myself a breakfast of eggs, cucumber, Cholula hot sauce, and bread. Took my sweet time eating, while deciding whether I wanted to run, or walk.

Hmmm... am I feeling up for a run? I don't know... maybe I should do the walk. I haven't ran for a long time. And I ALWAYS siche myself out in running competitions. Somehow a foot race is always better when you are playing around with your friends. Wow I'm starting to get the track butterflies... Maybe I should just walk... But if I walked I would feel lame. Jeeeeeez, I am making this too complicated. I need to go brush my teeth and get dressed.

Soooo, I decided to quit worrying and start getting down there; the first and most important obligation. I checked the time...

SHOOT! Is it already 8:40?! I'm not even dressed yet!!! I need to hurry my buns up otherwise the race will start without me.

That's about the time I started running around like a cat with its tail on fire - filling up my water bottle, throwing my hair in a ponytail, trying to find my shoes, stumbling to the car.

Wheeewwww. Don't start relaxing now, I told myself. You haven't even made it down there, let alone raced. I turned on my car to hear the familiar Subaru vroom. My CD player spit out a mellow tune on my "Sunny Vibes" mix, and I decided it wouldn't do. I needed something hectic and noisy. Just like my current state. Dubstep. Cranked off the wazoo. 'Nuff said.

I sped down to the hospital, and resorted to parking in the very back of the gravel lot, since everyone else had been there for at least 15 minutes. 8:53. Wow, I really need to start working on timeliness. It's just not my forte. You can tell I'm my father's daughter. Unfortunately I don't quite have his reputation and credibility locked in. Time only waits for the big dogs. I started to run out of my car; then I thought, "Am I crazy? Running already? Sheesh I already feel like I've ran three miles. Am I really ready for another three?"

I walked onto the manicured hospital lawn where pink balloons were scattered along with speakers and lawn chairs. The rainbow colored ribbons that announced the finish line waved in the breeze. My stomach lurched. By the lawn chairs I noticed I was being waved at. Three timely people: my mother, Brooke, and Stacy. All of whom had probably been there for around twenty minutes. To hell with excuses. I'll just nonchalantly walk up and find out where to sign up. "You're too late to sign up," my mom said, "just chose what you want to do, but you won't count in the results since your not in the system and we haven't payed." Ahhh, whatever, I thought to myself. Not like I'll be a hot shot anyway. Hell, I might as well even run/walk since I don't have to follow the rules.

Two minutes after I arrived, we were instructed to line up by the start/finish line. Brooke, who was signed up for the run, lined up next to me. She was pretty confident in doing the run after jogging for the past couple weeks. I had no intention of keeping up with her, I just wanted to do my thing. Ya know? Someone fired the gun, which surprisingly didn't reactivate the butterflies who used to gnaw at my stomach during track. Good start. I kept the pace with Brooke as we weaved in and out of the streets of Enterprise - working our way to the dump road.

Hey, this isn't too bad. I'm feeling pretty excellent right now. As I started towards the steepest hill leading out of town, I decided to push on. I wasn't sure if Brooke and I were supposed to run together, but I for sure was going to run my best race at this point. No point in giving it little effort. My walk/run technique was starting to seem foolish. This is a beautiful day: no clouds in the sky, perfect temperature, slight breeze, shining sun. Go for it.

I pushed on, humbled by the different ages in the crowd: children, elderly, even those pushing strollers with twins. This is really cool. I passed my brother and his friend John Green (the water-hander-outers) and grabbed a cup. They laughed at my red, sweaty face. I decided to show 'em what's up, so I picked up my pace. They're not going to laugh when they see me the next time. Finally I made it to the turn-around point where my friend Erich was directing runners. He told me, "Hurry it up, you're at like 28 minutes." In my current state (a sweaty mess breathing like a freight train) I didn't really know if that was slow or if he was serious. I didn't really know anything except that I was now going to show both Erich and John/Niko that I wasn't inadequate. Push on.

I found myself approaching my sixth grade teacher, Colby Knifong. We ran and talked for a little while. Always great to catch up with her. "I want to have her spirit when I'm older," I told myself. "I don't want to lose my spontaneity and sense of adventure." I passed my brother and John once again. They looked surprised. "Whoaaaa, you are like tenth in the pack. There aren't that many people in front of you. Keep it up!" Excellent. Since my brother surpassed me in physical shape (to my dismay he is pretty ripped), I am usually the subject of jokes sarcastically directed at my "rock hard abs" and my weasel-like thighs (which in reality are showing a little love). But under that love lies muscles once belonging to a fierce Viking. I've never been much of a sprinter, but my ancestors did give me endurance.

I thought to myself, "What, there must be a mile left? Almost there. Let's go." I kicked it into my last gear. Whooooo, I'm going to feel this in the morning. But right now I feel absolutely wicked. Once I got to the road leading out to the hospital, my muscles started to tell me I was done. Not yet, I told them. I remembered a book my grandmother (Farmor) and dad used to read to me: The Little Engine that Could. "I think I can I think I can I think I can I think I can," I cooed to myself like my dad used to when we would go on long hikes. I could almost taste the rainbow flags. Yessssssss. "25, 26, 27, 28!" I crossed at around 28 minutes. I had no idea what that meant and how I did, but I was so happy to be done. And I seemed to be among the front of the pack. Wahooooo! So much for run/walk.

As the rest of the runners and walkers trickled in, we made our way to drink water and enjoy a light snack of fruit and assorted appetizers. Since Brooke and I are on CJD court, we were asked to talk about Tough Enough To Wear Pink night at the rodeo as well as pass out awards. Talking in front of people is getting so much easier. No more chill pills (I literally had to find homeopathic stress/anxiety relaxants during our speaking competition in the winter). The system for awards was pretty unorganized, but we eventually handed out all of the ribbons and announced the winners. Running is an amazing sport. I commend those who possess natural talent.

I had low expectations for the day, but was pleasantly surprised and excited by how much fun I had. Not only was there a brilliant turnout to support Breast Cancer screenings, but I had a blast! In addition, it turned out that if I had been signed up, I would have placed second in my age group - two minutes behind the winner (who happens to run every day and take the sport seriously). Pumped!