Amateur Memorial Day Weekend Festivities

This most recent Memorial Day weekend started with a tradition and ended with an event that hopefully will never be a tradition.

First, the annual Chick-Fil-A 5k. We started with the inaugural race in 2009 (our first summer moving back East), and continued to participate each year. The course is a beautiful run through the Mariner's Museum Park in Newport News and you finish with a free chicken biscuit! Who doesn't love fried chicken in the morning just after a run?? Each year got better - we always saw the cows, but the second year they actually remembered to turn around us around (the first year was a 5-miler instead). And this year, they had all kinds of fun - bounce houses for kids, more port-a-potties, Luna bars at the finish (in addition to the chicken biscuits, of course), and cows also along the course (not just at the start/finish). What is more, we had my sister, her husband, and their baby boy join us (does the fetus count?) this year. Also, I discovered this year that yes, I can sweat from my shins. Who knew? Even though it was crazy muggy, we had a great time (as if you couldn't tell by the documentation below).

Pre-race: a little early for a Saturday.

Post-race: a lot more space among the group.  Refer to the above description of shin sweat for explanation.

A rare picture where I'm not grabbing my belly. Looking at photos lately, that's all I do. Like I don't want to forget that it is there? 

Now for the not-so-much a tradition event: floating down the James River on Monday with some of my favorite people. Let me start off with why we even did this in the first place:
+ It was a stifling 90+ degree weekend and the river was nice and cool
+ The James moves very slow (the lazy river at Water Country USA was always my favorite)
+ See above mentioning regarding spending the day with some of my favorite people
+ It came recommended by those who have done it before
+ It looked really cool online
+ It cost $3
+ I could get a tan
+ *TMI warning* you can relieve yourself at anytime. AKA a pregnant lady's dream.

So of course we got super excited in our preparation - parked a car at the end point, sun-screened up, packed snacks in a super cool waterproof bag, and hit the road (er, river?). Armed with sunglasses, a black rubber tube, and chacos (well, 4 of the 6 had water shoes - 2 wore flip flops), we set out for our "lazy river" adventure. And yes, the quotes are necessary. Keep reading, friend.

Before entering the river, the parking lot director warned us of a life jacket rule - since the water was high (at 7 feet), jackets were required. Although we had three life jackets (for each lady), only one of us chose to use it- the 34-week pregnant one. A little giddy to get going, but also apprehensive in the muddy water, we set on our way, and hit just a few little rapids (this is where I learned the rubber float is your friend and to use it to your advantage). We chatted, threw around a disgusting glass bottle, met some fellow floaters (rereading this just before publishing, I realize it sounds kind of gross, but whatever), and made our merry way. After we passed some people beaching along the banks and a couple of random signs by off-shooting creeks, we took a break for snacks on some rocks and reapplied some sun screen while one of us jumped off an old bridge support. We couldn't stop talking about how great it was.

We actually moved so slowly that we started to paddle (I think the chaffing on the inside of my arms finally disappeared). Hours later, we approached our destination. We could see Belle Isle on our right, but it looked about five feet lower that where we were on the river. Getting closer, we realize there is a huge concrete wall with a decent drop off in the way where we needed to cross to get out of the river. Once we finally all got hoisted up on the wall, we looked up and down for a way to get on the other side without killing ourselves. To our right was a giant chute of water (aka death trap). Just below, the water was very calm, but who knew how shallow it was? I must admit that at this point I was already so used to relieving the pressure on my bladder whenever I felt comfortable that I had to stop myself once atop the wall. Anyway, my fearless husband tossed his three-dollar tube into the water and belly flopped right on. Atta boy! He checked the depth and cleared us all to jump in. Once we all made it, we cheered. What success! What an adrenaline rush (it was quite the jump - not your typical diving board height, friends)!

Then we looked around and sawwe are surrounded by rocks.

Awesome.

It actually didn't look TOO bad, but we all got separated with different plans of attack. Joined by one friend, I began to walk across, thinking we could make it by foot. No dice. Three others floated down and stopped at some rocks with a look of confusion of what to do. Then we saw cop cars driving down to the beach and a fight break out on the shore. Are you kidding me? Bad omen. Worried about getting caught without a life jacket and needing to be rescued, my friend and I quickly got down off the rock and decided to just get on our tubes like our other pals and make our way down.

Oh, little did we know. I get anxiety just thinking about it again. The water was pretty crazy with a lot of rocks and rapids, but then I approached THE rock. The rock the size of my cubicle. My husband somehow wedged his float between his back and the rock and faced me. Later, I came to find out he was frantically trying to tell me to go to his right (while simultaneously trying to gain more solid footing thinking I may ram into him), but the water had another idea and I went to his right - in between the behemoth and other rocks with some reeeeally fast water. I totally ate it, slammed the right side of my body into the beast and fell off my tube. Meanwhile, Scott thought I hit my head. Poor guy. While trying get back on top of my tube, I hit more rocks and rode out the rapids on my back. Doubly awesome. I finally got inside of my tube (instead of on top of it) and began to kick and paddle for dear life. I saw that two of our friends made it to the shore line, and one was helping the other get up on land (again, after the event, we found out they made it because they went to the right of Scott). I tried to head toward them when I encountered more rocks (and a friend's hat that he lost in the adventure. I grabbed it and held on to it like a life-saving security blanket). After riding out more rapids (this time on my knees and hips), I finally got close enough to the shore to slow down a bit and touch bottom with my tippy-toes. Somehow my toes fell out of my sandal, but thankfully they stayed on. Clutching the hat, I realized I lost my sunglasses (big deal, sunglasses or life? I choose life). I stood in the river and watched my husband go after my dear, panicked friend. It was terrible - she looked scared out of her mind and deserved the sympathy of a drowning cat. She was right behind me this whole time, and Scott made the executive decision to go after my friend once he heard her cry out for her husband (we all got separated) and saw her struggle. I think he saw me trying to swim and knew I could make it. He got to her and they rode out a few more rapids while I stood and watched in amazement and horror. They were the two who wore flip flops. They put them on their hands, thinking it might help them paddle harder. Just a bit further down river, they made it to some calm water and took some time to catch their breath. Next thing we knew, some guy swam down the river right by them and a cop yelled at him to stop. The guy just swam harder and faster, forcing the cop to jump in right by Scott and my friend. They froze and decided to act natural (because just hanging out in a desolated part of the river is so natural... and no life jacket, remember?). Once we hiked through the woods to a path, we all met up. Cops were everywhere and all we can think about is avoiding getting a ticket for not wearing life jackets (not the fact that we all almost died or that something just happened to warrant the presence of many police officers).

We walked quietly back to the car. Everyone was still in a little shock, but just grateful to be walking. We all were bleeding somewhere, some more than others, and our spirits were no where near where they started. Our poor friends who planned the trip just kept apologizing and we told them not to worry. Once at their apartment, we all washed up, applied hydrogen peroxide (that river was a staph infection waiting to happen), aloe (in my case - the tops of my legs received a terrible burn), ate some pizza, and promptly left to head home (we made it back around midnight). Needless to say, it was a long day.

Throughout the following weeks, we all exchanged texts and phone calls (you okay? How was your doctor's appointment? How are you feeling? I'm so sorry! That was crazy!). Co-workers punished what they thought was an incredibly stupid move on my part by committing me to lame meetings and with threats to break Scott's knee caps if he even considered doing something like that again (my response of "We didn't know!!!" did not go far). Our friends who planned it later came to know that the recommendation was from a group that took a guided trip where you got off at one of the creeks, went back up stream, and repeated for a while. "No one ever goes that far" they were told (some recommendations leave out those crucial but minor details, I suppose).

Of course, the nurse midwife at my appointment a few days later didn't exactly approve, but she did offer some comfort: "There's a lot of women out there who don't want their babies... and have done far worse than what you did to rectify the situation. If floating down the James did the trick, you'd see a lot more women out there on the river trying to get rid of their babies."

Unfortunately, her words are sad but true.

I'm just glad we all came out alive, babies intact, and nobody went into early labor. Next year, I think we'll do a movie.