It was a Thanksgiving Day miracle.
Let me back up. Before I gave birth to Harper, I set a goal to waddle/jog/run in a Thanksgiving Day race. Thanksgiving fell just three months after Harper was born, and though I was unsure of the outcome, I registered for the Flying Feathers 4-miler in Dublin.
Since having ankle surgery over a year ago, I had not jogged an inch. So following my six-week postpartum appointment, I began jogging a little everyday.
I guess it paid off.
52 minutes after beginning the race, I jogged my way across the finish line of the Flying Feathers 4-miler.
Notice the folks in the background jogging the other way? They're lunatics. Actually, they are real runners, finishing the race well under 52 minutes. Apparently 4 miles wasn't enough for them so they turned around and rubbed their 8 minute mile in the faces of us waddlers.
Two things are going on this picture, 1) I can see the finish line, and 2) I can see my cheering section (aka my family). Finish line + Cheering section = Happy me.
Matt made me do this. Who kisses their medal after getting their butt kicked by 4 miles? But I was starving. And the medal didn't taste too bad.
To my surprise, I still had enough energy after the run to pick up my son and pose for this picture.
I really do believe in miracles.