I hate running. It’s really killer. I get bored and my mind tires before my legs do. However, when I’m running after something (for example, a soccer ball), I can go for miles and miles before I’m tired. I guess my competitive nature keeps me going.
For Christmas, Boy’s parents signed us up for a race with the Running Room. It was only 5km, but I don’t think I’ve ever run 5km outdoors. And I’ve never run outdoors in December with ice and snow and puddles. The good thing is that I have done it on a treadmill. That’s a start, right?
We show up, bright and early, morning of the run and still full from Christmas/Boxing Day dinners. I did a quick stretch and picked out a spot as close to the front as I could get before interfering with the serious runners. Boy’s Dad and I were ready to go.
How long before I needed wanted a break? Just over halfway (although I did not know this at the time). I really was convinced that I was tired but not long after we began walking briskly did I spot a runner walking to his car. I said, “Could this be true? Is it really almost done? Or is he just lightening fast?” Probably a bit of both. But I barely spat out the last bit of that sentence before Boy’s Dad asked if I wanted to sprint the rest of the way… to my back as I was already well on my way to the finish line.
I crossed the finish line with a huge smile on my face. Why? Well, I beat my personal best by 3 minutes (I normally run 12 minute miles). I also learned that I’m silly and need to push myself harder. Lastly, I was able to find a competitive side to running, beating me. We’re signing up for another run on Valentine’s Day, how sweatily romantic. Triathalon, you’re now just eons light years away.
