At 37 years old, I was somehow convinced that I should attempt to run a 10 mile race. I’m fully convinced I was either drunk at the time, or somehow somebody slipped me some sort of happy pill which made me temporarily think I could do this. Although I’m certainly not a beginner exerciser, as I do have a Wii Mii and yoga pants and everything, I have never attempted, in my life, to run more than a 5K. So, I’ve been training. And things hurt. Good Lord, do things hurt. I almost wish I had a video camera so I could watch myself running mile after mile, fake smiling while really wanting to clothesline all the happy little runners on the trail, acting like it’s a stroll through the park; And also trying not to trip the 65 year old men that pass me and say ‘Hello!!’ and almost scare me to the point of crapping my pants. Which would be acceptable, I suppose. I’m in nature and stuff. Crapping on a treadmill, though, would be a completely different story. But back to my original thought… You can take your chipper ‘Hello’, pal, and shove it up your happy Dri Fit-clad ass. I’m just trying not to die right now. I apologize if I appear rude. But not really.
Stay tuned. Today is 4 miles. I already feel like I need a nap and chocolate shake. Not necessarily in that order.