Now that Marathon Girl is training for marathons, our typical Saturday mornings now go something like this: we wake up and get the kids out of bed around 6:30. (Since our boys are early risers, they don't seem to mind that much.) We put them and other supplies in our minivan and drive to some of Marathon Girl's preferred running routes. She's usually running before seven.
On runs under 12 miles, I drive the van to designated spots every three miles or so and wait for her with plenty of cold Gatorade and water. While waiting I give the kids plastic sandwich bags full of fruit loops, a doughnut or two, and sippy cups full of milk. We also bring a big stack of the kidsâ€™ favorite books so they can have stories read to them while we're waiting.
On the longer runs (12 plus miles) we usually have Marathon Girl's dad in the van with us. This means I can run with Marathon Girl every other leg. This is good because Marathon Girl inevitably runs better when she has someone to run with--even for a couple of miles.
Even though I'm not running as much as I have in the past, I've still been able to keep pace with Marathon Girl. That is until last week. She pulled ahead of me after about a mile of running with her. I thought it was a fluke. I thought that the wind, the freezing rain, and the extra layers of clothing had slowed me down. So Saturday I vowed I'd keep up with Marathon Girl no matter what.
She had a 20 miler scheduled. This time I couldn't keep up with her for half a mile. Even at the end of her run, me being somewhat rested, she still pulled ahead. And it's not because I'm a slowpoke. It's because Marathon Girl's getting faster. Much faster. And not doing all that bad considering she had a baby five months ago.
Saturday felt like the days before we were married: Marathon Girl busting ahead and me struggling to keep up with her. Good times.
I wouldn't trade them for the world.