A few weeks ago, I registered Dan and myself for a Sunday-morning 5K Jingle Bell Run. A friend of mine has a family tradition of doing a Jingle Bell Run in Illinois every December, so I was familiar with how it goes: Everyone shows up in Christmas costumes, wears jingle bells, and generally has a good time while they race the short trail. I've never taken part in it myself but have wanted to, so this year, we decided a West Coast branch would be established.
I registered without knowing that the weekend would be one of our busiest in years, not the most ideal for resting up and running. Dan had a solo art show at Boulevard3 on Friday night, so Thursday was prepping for that and dropping off art, Friday was doing last-minute errands and schmoozing 'til 2:00am, and Saturday was a combination of managing an art gallery in Costa Mesa for a few hours, researching photography equipment, and going to a play in North Hollywood in the evening.
A couple of weeks ago, Dan and I rummaged at Wal-Mart for inexpensive red and green jogging-appropriate clothes while waiting for a prescription, and I splurged on 49ยข jingle bells to tie to our laces. I knew having some event-specific attire would be encouragement to participate. (I knew all week, and especially last night when I finally got in bed at 12:30am, that it would be a huge task to get up and be signed in and ready at the start-line by 7:45am.)
I also got a big red bow (normally used for a wreath) for my ponytail, but when we arrived and saw that no one else was wearing Christmasy stuff, I took it out. Dan was pretty uncomfortable, saying, "A girl can dress goofy and look cute, but a man just looks like a fool." I was able to point out a few men wearing Santa hats and one guy in a Santa uniform, but everyone else was in standard running gear.
Shortly into the race, I noticed a young girl on the side of the road with an I-lost-my-mommy face. She had a race tag on but clearly was bewildered. I was surprised that no one had noticed her before I did. Of course, we stopped, and I quickly learned that five-year-old Caroline mistakenly thought she was ahead of her mom and sister, then realized when she looked for them that they were ahead... and she panicked. She took my hand immediately, and I assured her that everything would be okay shortly.
There was a police officer in a truck following the race trail, so I flagged him down to tell him she was lost. He actually asked us to walk her back to the registration table, which totally shocked me.
The girl was so sweet, scared but also very freely sharing information about her parents' and siblings' information, school info, etc. (I was asking questions casually to find out how to get her back to her parents and also to make her comfortable.) While this was helpful, it kind of broke my heart too to think how easily such a sweet kid could be exploited by someone with bad intentions.
We walked her back to the registration desk, and the organizers suggested dumping her in the daycare area... which I thought was kind of a lame idea (then, if something did happen to her, I would never forgive myself) and she wasn't into it either. She just wanted to hold my hand and hang out there until her mom came back. I was again surprised when several people suggested that what we did was "so nice" and "giving" and "in the holiday spirit." Are people so selfish that returning a lost child is now considered a generous gesture? It's just what you're supposed to do!
I passed on the parents' names to the organizers, who said they would have the police broadcast the info along the race trail and have the emcee announce it, but within just a few minutes, the girl's mom and seven-year-old carbon-copy of a sister showed up. Caroline and her sister both appeared on the verge of tears, and the mother was very frazzled but calm. Beside a half-hearted, passive "thank you," she didn't say anything to us, just hugged her daughter. It was very weird. I guess a parent who loses her child for 15 minutes needs to be cut a lot of slack. The experience definitely made Dan and me think about the measures we'll take with our kids to ensure their security and reunion if we are separated in a similar way.
By the time we parted ways with the family, racers had already crossed the finish line, so we decided not to start again (or we'd likely get overtaken by the kids about to start the kids' 1K). We turned in our chips and walked to the car. I was kind of bummed that we didn't get to finish, but also proud of myself for having kept the commitment to do the race, since--especially after such a taxing weekend--sleeping in 'til noon was a much more attractive prospect.
One of next year's goals is to complete at least six 5K races, and I'm sure one of them will be the 2010 Jingle Bell Run. And once again, I'll be there... with bells on.
I registered without knowing that the weekend would be one of our busiest in years, not the most ideal for resting up and running. Dan had a solo art show at Boulevard3 on Friday night, so Thursday was prepping for that and dropping off art, Friday was doing last-minute errands and schmoozing 'til 2:00am, and Saturday was a combination of managing an art gallery in Costa Mesa for a few hours, researching photography equipment, and going to a play in North Hollywood in the evening.
A couple of weeks ago, Dan and I rummaged at Wal-Mart for inexpensive red and green jogging-appropriate clothes while waiting for a prescription, and I splurged on 49ยข jingle bells to tie to our laces. I knew having some event-specific attire would be encouragement to participate. (I knew all week, and especially last night when I finally got in bed at 12:30am, that it would be a huge task to get up and be signed in and ready at the start-line by 7:45am.)
I also got a big red bow (normally used for a wreath) for my ponytail, but when we arrived and saw that no one else was wearing Christmasy stuff, I took it out. Dan was pretty uncomfortable, saying, "A girl can dress goofy and look cute, but a man just looks like a fool." I was able to point out a few men wearing Santa hats and one guy in a Santa uniform, but everyone else was in standard running gear.
Shortly into the race, I noticed a young girl on the side of the road with an I-lost-my-mommy face. She had a race tag on but clearly was bewildered. I was surprised that no one had noticed her before I did. Of course, we stopped, and I quickly learned that five-year-old Caroline mistakenly thought she was ahead of her mom and sister, then realized when she looked for them that they were ahead... and she panicked. She took my hand immediately, and I assured her that everything would be okay shortly.
There was a police officer in a truck following the race trail, so I flagged him down to tell him she was lost. He actually asked us to walk her back to the registration table, which totally shocked me.
The girl was so sweet, scared but also very freely sharing information about her parents' and siblings' information, school info, etc. (I was asking questions casually to find out how to get her back to her parents and also to make her comfortable.) While this was helpful, it kind of broke my heart too to think how easily such a sweet kid could be exploited by someone with bad intentions.
We walked her back to the registration desk, and the organizers suggested dumping her in the daycare area... which I thought was kind of a lame idea (then, if something did happen to her, I would never forgive myself) and she wasn't into it either. She just wanted to hold my hand and hang out there until her mom came back. I was again surprised when several people suggested that what we did was "so nice" and "giving" and "in the holiday spirit." Are people so selfish that returning a lost child is now considered a generous gesture? It's just what you're supposed to do!
I passed on the parents' names to the organizers, who said they would have the police broadcast the info along the race trail and have the emcee announce it, but within just a few minutes, the girl's mom and seven-year-old carbon-copy of a sister showed up. Caroline and her sister both appeared on the verge of tears, and the mother was very frazzled but calm. Beside a half-hearted, passive "thank you," she didn't say anything to us, just hugged her daughter. It was very weird. I guess a parent who loses her child for 15 minutes needs to be cut a lot of slack. The experience definitely made Dan and me think about the measures we'll take with our kids to ensure their security and reunion if we are separated in a similar way.
By the time we parted ways with the family, racers had already crossed the finish line, so we decided not to start again (or we'd likely get overtaken by the kids about to start the kids' 1K). We turned in our chips and walked to the car. I was kind of bummed that we didn't get to finish, but also proud of myself for having kept the commitment to do the race, since--especially after such a taxing weekend--sleeping in 'til noon was a much more attractive prospect.
One of next year's goals is to complete at least six 5K races, and I'm sure one of them will be the 2010 Jingle Bell Run. And once again, I'll be there... with bells on.
