Just When I Think I Have Him Pegged...

One of the things I love most about my husband is that he endlessly surprises me. There is rarely a dull moment around this man. He always says (and does) just what he thinks (often in real time) and appreciates "life in the moment". Unlike me, he doesn't have the tendency to slip into auto-pilot mode and mindlessly "routine" it through the day. He is a child at heart and is continually fascinated and fascinating. While I love him for it, his devil may care approach to life can, at times, butt up against my relentless determinsm to go, go, go and do, do, do. You runners out there know which of us requires running, its routine and utter ass kickery, to take the edge off.

Imagine my surprise, a few months ago when Tarlac said he was down to do the San Antonio half-marathon. You know I was simply giddy inside but did not want to scare him away by overzealously welcoming him to my world with a smothering embrace. I offered any and all support which he politely declined indicating he would do it all on his own.

While Tarlac does take care of a lot of important things in our relationship such as making sure I don't throw myself off a cliff when the grocery store is out of my particular brand of soymilk, I have to remind him to do just about any and all of his daily tasks. For every reminder set for myself, a corresponding one is set for Tarlac from the important to asanine. So, excuse me if I don't seem supportive when I say I had more than a small amount of doubt that he would pull it off on his own without my support (aka: mind numbing nagging).

However, the kid proved me wrong. Between Sept. to Nov., just about every day when I walked in from the office, Tarlac was finishing off a run or some cross traning. He even came on a few long runs with me and the other Gazelles. As we approached Nov., he even "dropped the bomb" at the end of those runs and it was no long an easy effort for me to keep up.

The day of the half arrived and it was hardly ideal running conditions. Temperatures were in the mid 60s when we started with high humidity and T's running buddy (yours truly) was suffering from major PMS (that's kinda my half marathon calling card...I am 2 for 2 now). On top of that, he had learned the evening before that his dear Nana had passed away.

We met up with my tighter than tight running buddy, Tessa, and took our place in the chute. When I signed us up, I had way over estimated our finish time to be two hours. I had a feeling that he would be a lot faster that day and sure enough, he was. From the beginning to the end of the race we were weaving our way through the crowds averaging an 8:15 pace. I kept checking in and asking Tarlac how he was doing and it was clear, he was doing just fine. He was taking in the atmosphere and the crowds and loving it. As we approached the finish line, I perhaps was feeling more excited than I did when I was about to complete my first full marathon. The excitement was building, I was going to reach for Tarlac's hand and this poor sap in front of us collapsed and here is the other reason, I love my husband....

Whereas most people in his kicks would have dashed a few more paces and finished (especially since he won't admit it but just MAYBE he had something to prove to his running obsessed wife) but without missing a beat, Tarlac stopped and helped this guy to his feet until the medics could get out to him and only then did he finish the race. We crossed the line in 1:48:30 and T was full of energy. He was actually helping me due to my lady cramps. After that, he drove us home and was showered and ready to go to get his first post race grub on. I am happy to say he is hooked and already planning his next race. The sad part? That we won't be running together in future races because I will be eating his dust.