10K

About three months ago I semi-committed myself to a 90-day fitness challenge. I decided to exercise regularly, change my diet, and complete a 10K walk at the end of the period. Well..... notice how I described my committment level as "semi-committed?" That's because by about day thirty my routine was falling apart. Amidst the madness of the holidays, the rainy, crummy weather, and the continuous presence of glorious holiday food, my resolve whittled down to practically nothing. By the new year my exercise and diet goals had flown out the window. But, there was always the 10K I had signed up for to get me motivated again, right?

Well, here I am today. The 10K was this morning. Did I train for it? Nope. Did I do a little bit of walking to get ready for it? Nope. Did I eat a healthy dinner and get a good night's rest the night before? Nope.

Boy, I'm pathetic.

But I paid for the race, so I wasn't about to flake out. I'm not THAT pathetic.

I arrived early in the morning, a bit apprehensive since I had never done something like this before and I wasn't with anyone to show me the ropes. I got my number (#532) and pinned it on, but not before checking everyone else around me to see how they did it. I didn't want to stick out as being the newbie who put her number on like a geek. Then I waited....

When it was time to start I took off like a deer in a meadow, bounding ahead of the other runners...I felt like a free bird, gliding along the trail...oh, never mind. I just walked across the line trying not to feel wimpy and out of place as the runners took off and left us walkers in their trail dust. As I watched them go I toyed with the idea of training for a 5K run. Maybe I'll do that next time, I thought. Then I saw their faces as they came back on the return part of the course. Ummmm, no thanks. Most of them looked like they were in extreme amounts of pain--their poor, twisted, drippy faces passing by with all manner of huffing, puffing, stomping, and feet-slapping. I'll stick to my walking, even if it's slow and wimpy.

It was a beautiful morning and I tried to keep a quick pace. I picked out another walker ahead of me and kept her in my sights. Her pace was about the same as mine and she was keeping steady. I tried to catch her, but she was very consistent and kept me going quickly. Just after the midway point, though, she pulled ahead and I lost track of her. I could feel myself slowing down a bit, but I plodded on. The last mile or so I kept a consistent pace with another woman in front of me. We started chatting and pushed each other along. It was her first race too.

I crossed the finish line as the crowd roared its thunderous applause. Not really. But the time keeper dude said, "Great job, ladies!" I didn't dare look behind me to see if I was the last one. I know I wasn't, but I didn't want to kill my ego by seeing only a few other scragglers behind me who were probably old women. (No offense to old women--I saw plenty of them out there who were much faster than I and who were even running!)

All in all, it was worth it. I enjoyed myself. I pushed myself. I completed the task. I'll probably do it again. Hopefully I'll prepare better next time. The goal was to get myself in better shape, right? That's still the goal. I just want to be healthy and feel good about myself. That's not too much to ask of myself. We'll see how I do next time.

PS - This post is dedicated to Todd & Sarah, my brother and sister-in-law, who are running fools. May you still love me now that you know the truth about my apathy towards running. It's not for me, but I completely and utterly admire you both for doing it. Run on, baby, run on!