I got this hair-brained idea that I was going to run a half marathon. I figured 13 miles running can’t be worse than 30 miles hiking. Seems somewhere along the way I forgot that I absolutely hate to run. Good thing I happen to love what it does to my body. Well, aside from how I walk like I’m eighty for the first few weeks of training.
I knew it was pointless to train on my own — no way was I doing this without someone along to kick my butt into gear. The bad part of running in a group though — always bringing up the rear. I enjoy the company of my colleagues, I even like them a bit, but I don’t enjoy constantly staring at their hind parts because I can’t manage to keep up.
This is one of those times where I wish I had a competitive spirit. If I were like my best friend in Texas for example, she would be motivated by the sheer will to dominate the heck out of this run. I on the other hand came to peace with my non-athleticism years ago. I think somewhere around age four. Yes, I was picked last in kickball. But, I don’t blame anyone. I was the one squatting down in the field searching for four leaf clovers — more likely to get clonked on the head then actually catch a ball.
In summary, I may have escaped my 30 mile hike without a coronary disaster, but I might be pushing my luck with these running shenanigans. I’m not quitter though. I’ll either complete those 13 miles, or I’ll be politely escorted off the course because the sun has gone down and I haven’t quite managed to finish.