In my attempt to not die a premature death due to apathy and lethargy, I have started running more...okay just running...no "more" about it. I walked a 5k with my mom earlier this summer and was inspired to be able to run a 5K by the end of the summer. I have actually been able to stick with it and run a little over 2 and a half miles a day with some speed workouts here and there. Today, I attempted to run a 5K course, and let me tell you my friend...it was not pretty.
My sister and I decided we would run a race next weekend, and so we attempted the course today just to make sure we could do it without falling over...due to dying. About 2 miles into the run, I was feeling pretty good about the course. I wasn't really tired and there was no apparent pain shooting down my left arm. I thought, "hey, I can do this no problem." Oh, how pride cometh before the fall. About 2 miles into the race we come to the dirt trail part, or what I refer to as "the trail which Satan, himself, carved out for foolish runners." I don't know if it became harder because I was running farther, because the ground was uneven or because I had no idea where I was going. I think it was a combination of all three. I used to work at the campground where this course is, and I have walked the trail we were running before, but I could not, for the life of me, remember it.
We finished the course and after my heart was able to regain its regular rhythm, I felt triumphant. We didn't die, no search crews had to come out looking for us and I didn't cry once. We did it in pretty good time (for two girls who have not run 3.1 miles in...ever) which I will not post on the internet, because I have some pride left.