Remember this? I started "training" for a 10k back in March. That "training" was intense for the first few weeks and then it became anything but consistent. I started to realize that I was actually much further away from my goal than I thought and I began to do things other than running. I did keep working out pretty regularly, minus the running, until we came home at the beginning of April. Having the gym less than 1 kilometer away in Vojens, Denmark was the best thing for me ... then. When I came home there were so many other things to think about, so many other things to do. Until 2 weeks ago.
I started running 5 miles a day. Don't get me wrong, I took breaks. A day here, a day there. But I knew that on June 11 I was going to die if I didn't get my rear in gear. I never once made it to 6 miles though. I was running around town and never made it to the actual distance of the race.
One time (about 2 weeks ago) this girl (who ran the Flying Pig Marathon) said that you're body is capable of running 3x as far as the furthest you've ever gone. With that said, I should be able to run 15 miles. Correct? Uh, no.
I was never a runner. I played softball. I was always the lead off who bunted, slapped, and occasionally hit. My job was to get on base. It didn't matter which one. I just had to be on for the next girl to do her job and I'd sprint my little butt on over one or two bases and stop again. You see, I got to run 60 feet and stop. 60 measly feet. Do you know how many feet are in 6.2 miles? I'll tell you - 32,736. Well, you can imagine this, to me, seemed daunting. Thank God I have great friends!
Friday morning I got a text message from my good friend. Let's call her BB, esq. So she says "Oh hey, you've been M.I.A. for awhile. You're going to be fine for the race. I feel like you're psyching yourself out." Thanks BB, esq. Make me feel like a jerk. Yes, I was kind of scared, nervous that I would die. Die, people. I'm being dramatic here. I pride myself in not being that dramatic, but I was for this! {;o)} I told BB, esq. that I was okay and I would see her in the morning - also I apologize in advance if I start crying while running because I'm so scared of losing my life.
Saturday morning I wake up at 6 a.m. (Did I mention it's legit pouring outside. Thunder and rain. Lots and lots of rain.) Who does this? I grab food, that I don't eat, water, that I don't drink, and head downtown. I grab my free tee, free Reds ticket voucher, little chip thing that you apparently put on your shoe (thank you BB, esq. for tying my shoes), and start stretching. After the national anthem we were off. Actually we weren't. We stood there for about 2 minutes before we could actually move around the crowd.
After 1 mile in I was kickin' butt. Soaked to the bone, kicking butt. BB, esq. told me that I was going way faster than the pace I wanted (she has a sweet Garmin watch). But we kept going. I saw the 3 mile marker and then I never saw another marker. We head over the Purple People Eater Bridge - that's what we call it - and then head back over this other bridge - no name for it - and I realize we're less than a quarter mile home. We book it the rest of the race.
At the end, I'm not huffing and puffing. I actually feel great. I was super proud of myself, proud of my friend, not dead. I had finished. To be honest, I think I'll do another race. Maybe not really soon, but I'll do one. I'm a winner. I win.
~ Number 4 on my 30 Before 30 list was to run a 5K. I think this counts! Too bad Blogger doesn't offer a double cross off!!
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