Another year, another Uwharrie.

I actually cringed when Jim pointed it out to me, the muddy gully in which I had hopped a large root and heard the sickening crunch in my ankle last year. (And, to hear him tell it, heartlessly deserting him in his time of need, leaving him to run his first 40 miler alone.) And then made my way slowly down the trail to the next aid station, a little amazed that I had run those next five miles not realizing it was broken. Then again, there had been a lot I hadn't known last year. I had also been a couple weeks pregnant with Finley at the Uwharrie Mountain Run, a tough trail race that has become a tradition for Jackie and the Trimbles and I.

I had flown down by myself at the last minute when Seth had a Friday afternoon meeting scheduled and we realized that us driving down after it with Finley- the original plan- would put us in insanely late and cost us many miserable hours in 95 traffic. So I bought quick-turnaround plane tickets and Seth stepped up to the plate as Mr. Dad so I could go. Revisiting Uwharrie had been my "get back in shape" plan for most of my pregnancy, and I was determined to do it, even if I was in nowhere near the shape I should have been to knock out 20 mountain miles. Not to mention that it would be a long day, requiring me to run with- and use- a portable breastpump along the way.

It was harder than I had imagined. I always thought that when people talked about "getting back" after having a baby, they just meant weight loss and fitness level. I hadn't accounted for the fact that your body is still out of whack for a long, long time. The elastin-induced loose ankles and wince-worthy pelvic pain almost did me in, and there was a lot of walking, but... I (eventually) did it. My hardest, slowest 20 ever. I barely made cutoff. And it felt like a huge accomplishment. Of course, the Trimbles and Jackie got me to the halfway point, so that helped- and there is nothing like time on the trails to work out all of life's problems. Jackie had had a meltdown and nearly called off her upcoming wedding, and Heather and Jim were getting ready to start expensive and painful IVF, so we had lots to talk about and it was just like old times, sorting things out with some of my favorite running buddies. The second half of the run, though, left me wondering aloud to the trees what in the hell I had been thinking.

There were many, many post-race beers. And a lot of ibuprofen. And I'm taking the elevator at work today, as stairs are simply out of the realm of possibility. But I'm glad to have that one under my belt, and it was nice to have a reunion and reflect on just how much had changed since last year. I wouldn't say I'm "back," exactly, but I feel like I'm on the way. (At minimum, those big hills were the kick in the pants I needed to get my butt back in gear!)

Still, I raced home on the first flight I could snag Sunday morning. I had missed Seth and Finley- who had been continuously texting their love and support as well as their movie choices- madly. I have never felt more grateful to have such a terrific teammate. Not only did Seth hold down the homefront the whole time I was gone, he seemed to have genuinely enjoyed the solo father-daughter time. He and Finley took turns picking out movies: The Lorax for her; Gran Torino for him. And he claimed she was jealous of the disgusting dinner he came up with for himself: microwave waffles and chicken fried steak, smothered in maple syrup. Both messages cracked me up.

We did the baby handoff when I got home, since it is literally impossible to get anything done with our anti-napper at home and Seth needed to work out and get some studying done. (Well I know, the feeling of being housebound, however adorable the company.) The weather was stunning, so I took Finley for a long walk in the sunshine by way of beating post-race lactic-acid buildup. Finley loves her new big girl stroller, and we hung out at the park for awhile. She had gotten even better at rolling over in my absence, so when I set her down on my sweatshirt to enjoy the sun she immediately rolled face-first into the mud. She looked like pigpen but seemed no worse for the wear, and Seth forgave my parenting fail via text: "we like dirt." (In the picture at left, however, she seems to be shaking her fist at my dereliction.)

And then I took my turn snuggling on the couch with my little bear while Seth studied. She really did insist we take this selfie. Heather pointed out that it looks like she's making the ubiquitous "duckface." I hope not.

 

Photo of the week is this hilarious one. Finley's father lets her sleep on the couch like this, and- as Nicole said- she looks as if she's awaiting servants to fan her with palm fronds. She probably is.

Oh- and I have to share this. Every year there's a guy who runs an aid station way out in the middle of the woods and is a gourmet cook. (Uwharrie really is an excellent event.) Last year, he made maple bacon waffle sandwiches- quite a departure from the usual PB&J and trail mix fare. Anyway, this year he served up this soup he had made over a campstove, and it wasn't just because I needed calories that I thought it was the best I'd ever had. I told him so and snagged the recipe. As I started back down the trail, I could hear him shouting after me that the fresh parsley was critical.

I love trail races.