I know what you're thinking. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself? You're clearly terrible at running."
Which is true. I suppose it's one of those things like childbirth. It's terrible but it gets good at the end. Well, it's not exactly like childbirth, lest any men think we've been exaggerating all this time. Also, races have fewer drugs than childbirth. Some - but not as much.
Sure, I feel like I'm about the receive the cold kiss of death during a run but my legs feel all glowy the rest of the day.
Every race, there's always this one guy.
He never wears a shirt and he dons teeny tiny shorts, like he's concerned about wind drag on his time. This guy is one of the people who practice for the 5k, warming up by running miles and miles and miles before the race. Considering the race is only 3.1 miles, I see this as rather absurd. What is this, a marathon? Stop sprinting in your toddler-sized shorts, sweat glistening on your hairless chest, face stony with determination.
It's a 5k.
No, no, it's a Wine and Chocolate 5k.
This isn't the Olympics, for Dean Karnazes' sake. It's a 3 miles run with children, and moms with strollers, and groups of sorority sisters with shirts that say "Run now, Wine later" on them. You're only irritating people.
When the first pace group is called, usually the 6-7 min/mile group, he's there, guzzling an energy chew and doing a couple quick high knees for good measure and visualizing his first place win.
Calm it down.
Someone asked what my pace was and I answered, "Whatever the slowest one is."
In fact, during the race, I was passed by a dad and his two daughters, one of which, a 6 year old-ish kid, was wearing jeans and flip flops. And still she passed.
It does nothing for my self-esteem, which has never recovered from the Atomic-Bomb-Frizzy-Mushroom haircut of '94.
Before I was even at the Mile 1 water station, people were looping back to finish. Marathon man was third or fourth, I think. It must have really chaffed his Daisy Dukes not to be in first. Should've done a couple more high knees.
So I didn't win the 5k. And it was flippin hot, seeing as it took place at 430 in Florida in late April. This date and time was clearly set by someone who has never been to Florida on an April afternoon. But I had a great evening with my best friend, where we got to laugh and talk without anyone yelling from the bathroom to come quickly. And there were wine glasses at the end and lovely people pouring chilling drinks into our glasses while we sipped and munched on chocolate covered popcorn.
We decided to make a 5k date, maybe twice a year. That means I have to wait a whole 6 months before I can be treated to the fanatic warm-up stylings of Marathon Man.
Shoot.
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