On Thanksgiving morning, while the majority of the country was fast asleep, I was gearing up to face off against my family in a 5k that would test more than just my stamina. The annual Newtown Turkey Trot started and ended at Newtown Middle School, benefitted the C. H. Booth Library, and began at 7:45 AM on November 28th.
Our “race” team was called The Grand Place Pacers. It consisted of me, my step dad Chris, my step sisters Sarah and Izzy, and my sister Kate.
While the goal of running together was to build community, I was determined to come out victorious, and my competition was stiff. Sarah was a retired, yet highly experienced runner, Chris was a fifty-five year old man, Izzy was a substitute at NMS/graduate student, Kate was in college, and I was a 17-year-old girl in high school whose extracurriculars did not include a sport. I couldn’t remember the last time I ran for longer than thirty seconds straight, but how hard could it be?
My training started November 27th, the day before the trot. I made my way out into the field connected to my backyard, decked out head-to-toe in Lululemon and Nike. Look good, feel good, right? I started to run, and stopped after what was probably less than a minute. This was when I had three awful realizations: I was not a runner, I should’ve started training a while ago, and I absolutely was not going to do well.
Thanksgiving morning arrived, and it was raining and cold. I awoke at 6:15. I tied my hair back into a braided ponytail, and bobby-pinned my bangs to the side. Things were getting serious now.
My breakfast was two donut holes, half of a scrambled egg, and a Ghost Sour Patch Blue Raspberry Energy Drink. This choice was received with disgusted looks by my family, and comments about how if I puked during the trot, it would come out blue. I decided to place two watermelon Sour Patch Kids in the pocket of my raincoat, for a mid-race energy boost.
We made our way to the middle school, being greeted both by people dressed as turkeys and runners who actually wanted to win. Sarah, the retired runner in my family, began to stretch, and the other four of us followed suit. My hair and shoes were already drenched by the rain.
The buzzer went off, signaling the race had started. As I started to jog, I turned to Izzy and said, “This isn’t that bad!”
My exclamation was responded with, “We just started!”
The first ten minutes was smooth sailing. I maintained my pace, even passing some of my family members on the way. But horror struck on The Boulevard, when I realized my toes were numb. I shook my head, I knew I should’ve worn two layers of socks. I began to walk until I regained feeling, and balled my hands into fists so as to make sure I could still feel them. With every step I took, water squelched out of my running sneakers.
I spent most of the trot alongside Izzy, sporadically switching from jogging to walking depending on which one of us began to cramp or couldn’t take it anymore. Which, usually, was me.
“I spent 12 years running competitively, and have run the turkey trot almost every year trying to do well enough to get a pie. This year, I officially retired from competitive running and just ran to have fun which was really exciting. My family also ran it with me for the first time ever, so it was really nice to cheer them all on and join me in something that has meant so much to me over the years,” NHS 2016 graduate Sarah Mawdsley said.
It is safe to say that Sarah finished ahead of me. I almost finished last out of The Grand Place Pacers, I realized when I saw my sister Kate ahead of me. I did not allow that to happen. For a brief moment, I channeled the energy of a real runner, and sprinted. Once I had passed, I looked back at her with the biggest smile I made all day. I beat her and Izzy by exactly one minute, and spent the next six hours reminding them of it.
My biggest takeaway was that I forgot to eat my watermelon Sour Patch Kids.
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