Yeah, I beat him

Every single year around March, I start to say that I'm going to run Kingston's Beat Beethoven race, a fundraiser for the Kingston Symphony.

The race is an eight-kilometre run through the city's street with the goal of making it to the finish before the symphony finishes playing a selection of his music.

You've got to make it in less than 50 minutes.

I've never tried the run because every year when the run would roll around I'd realize there was no way I could walk it, much less run it.

This year, I've been running since January and I was ready to beat Mr. Ludwig.

Last Sunday was blistering hot. We were all sweating before the race started. The Fiance was with our boy so I had to run by myself. I've never run a race alone. When I did the 10-kilometre a couple months ago, I ran with a friend.
This time, it was just me.

I had my heart set on beating Beethoven because I was sure this was the one time in my life when I knew I'd fit enough to actually take him on.

There were 400 runners registered this year. I didn't care if I came last, I just wanted to hear the symphony still playing when I crossed the finish line.

I've been training with Tracie Smith-Beyak since January, running twice a week plus doing two powerwalking sessions a week. We've learned to run downhill and downhill. We've worked on starts. We've worked on dips (I'll let you take one of Tracie's classes to figure that one out.) It was now or never.

I set off on a good pace and kept glancing at my watch to see how I was doing. I was cutting it close, I was sure.

It was so bloody hot that two people near me dropped and had to be helped by medical personnel but I had enough Diet Coke in me to keep me hydrated.

As I neared the finish line on Ontario Street, I was sure the clock said 49 minutes. I had just one minute to run all the way down the street and duck under the clock so I dug deep, all the way to brand new $170 running shoes and sprinted.

I don't know who it was but someone near the end was shouting "You can do it! Push it. Push it real good!" (Um, Ok, that sounds like Salt N' Pepa but you get my drift.)

I ducked under the clock and then threw up in my mouth.

But I made it in 45 minutes - (I mistook 44 for 49 minutes...) - and when you have a baby, you're used to a little barfy barf.




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Gag me with a baby spoon

Anyone who's ever been barfed on by a baby knows that nothing in the world compares to the stench of the curdled juice.

Not even adult barf smells like baby barf.

Sometimes I try and pretend that Little Man hasn't just released a white glob onto his outfit but after awhile, the stench is too overpowering and I have to put him in a new outfit. Again. For the fourth time that morning.

The other day, I was burping Little Man and I was sure, absolutely sure, that I heard him do a little baby barf. I immediately checked my shoulder. You see, you're supposed to put a blanket on your shoulder so you don't get the goo on you but there's never one around, or I've taken them all downstairs to be washed, or it was one of those instant barfs that come out of nowhere so I didn't ever have the need for the blanket.

No spitup on my shoulder. "Strange," I thought. "I'm sure I heard it."

A few minutes passed. Now I also thought I could smell it.

I looked again.

Nothing on my shoulder.
Nothing down my front.
Nothing on him.
No drippies anywhere.

"This is exhaustion," I thought.
"I'm dreaming that I'm covered in baby barf."

I accepted that I was nutso and went on with my day - but the smell followed me.

It came with me to the laundry room as I washed dirty workout clothes.
It came with me to the bathroom.
It came with me to the nursery to change a diaper.
It came with me to the mailbox.

I was being haunted by the ghost of baby barf.

Until I wised up.

I was wearing this little blue sweatshirt - actually, as the cool kids say, a little blue hoodie.

I took off my sweater and there, inside the hood, was a pool, a pool I tell you, of baby barf. I'd been carrying it around all day with me.

I was like a Kinder Egg. I had a surprise inside.

That was lame. Oh barf.

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