I've found it harder and harder to muster enthusiasm for road races, but I'd gotten pretty excited about this year's Amos Herr 5K Honey Run.
I have run this race several times before and have fond memories of one year pushing Lily in the stroller as she cheered at each person we passed (we passed many as I was in the bathroom when the start gun went off, giving us the chance to catch the entire back of the pack and a good chunk of the mid-pack too!) and, another year, doubling back around after finishing to accompany Lindsay on her first 5K finish.
This year I'd managed to convince both Lily and Piper Bea to let me push them in the double stroller. This was especially exciting for me because I had a suspicion I might not get the chance again with Lily growing taller by the minute and Piper rarely agreeing to sit still for minutes at a time.
The girls were also excited to take part in the kids' 1/4 mile fun run, their first opportunity to "run like daddy". Both girls grew more enthusiastic as race day approached which in turn made me that much more excited. Every day of the week ahead of the race, I would answer "which day is Sunday?" with a full countdown of the remaining days.
Then on Saturday afternoon while trying to reinflate the tires, I broke the stroller. Really broke it.
As in, killed it. And not in a good way.
My heart sank and, almost on cue, a head cold swept in and threatened to put me down for the entire weekend. Between my disappointment and being sick, I got myself in a pretty nasty funk.
Boo-hoo for me and all that. Pathetic.
But that melancholy washed away on Sunday afternoon when I, in a medicated haze, witnessed Lily and Piper crossing the fun run finish line to proudly, giddily accepting their first ribbons.
In the end, I realized I was happier for the girls to have race day memories of their own that didn't need sharing with just another day of running for Dad.
Too bad it took me busting the stroller to give them that. My bad.