A few months ago I decided to challenge myself to my first 5K. These seem to be very popular, not only to raise money for certain causes, but as a way for people to get fit.
I went shopping, I mean, I needed to, right? I bought new running sneakers, socks and a jogging bra. In my pea brain, I thought this was going to make me an expert. I would whip off 3.1 miles easy, as long as I was dressed appropriately.
Who am I kidding? Have you ever SEEN me run? It is not pretty. I labored around the block, practically tripping over my own feet. Who invented running anyway? This should not be a sport, it is a form of torture. Whenever I passed anyone, or a car came by, I would try and look like I knew what I was doing. I think they all knew better. My cats can walk faster than I can plod along, I don't know who I believe I am fooling.
I decided to take a break after my first run, I mean, I don't want to overdo it. The break has lasted about three months, and now with less than three weeks to go before my 5K, I am in a complete panic.
I have decided I will do "two-a-days," a term I heard from high school sports teams. This means I am actually torturing myself in the morning and evening, and I am up to a whopping 1.6 miles at a stretch. If I combined both the morning and evening stints, I will be able to finish this race, but I think the point of the 5K is to run it all at once. Ah well. Wish me luck.
After one mile I collapsed into my own driveway. I figured I had my phone with me, so if I needed resuscitation, I could call into the house and have someone come out and revive me.
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