So, last year, I took up running so as not to have an a$$ the size of a small middle Eastern country.
Four months ago, I even made some grand promises about running a 5k.
Well guess what?
This past Saturday, I did it.
I ran a 5k.
I didn't embarrass myself.
I didn't finish last.
I even got a cool t-shirt to prove it.
It was a high like I have never experienced before
I immediately came home and started looking for other races to run in the near future.
Then I saw this one.
Which is not a 5k at all, but a 10k.
That's more than 6 miles, people.
But I'm seriously considering it.
I ran 5 miles on the treadmill yesterday, and only stopped because the children were clamoring for breakfast. Pesky kids have to eat ALL. THE. TIME. Like, at least three times a day. Good grief.
Tomorrow, I plan to do the full six miles and change.
I'll see how I feel then, and I have almost a whole week to decide. Yowza.
I'm also planning to run this race in April, and I'm setting some pretty aggressive time goals for myself. Also, in a fit of either brilliance or insanity - not sure which, I'll let you know - I've talked several members of my extended family into walking this one. There are a few folks who are close to me who are trying to lose weight and get fit, and I'm so proud of them. This will be a great big ole family affair, complete with much hugging and sobbing at the finish line, I imagine.
So, it's official.
I'm addicted.
And as someone who has never made time for or been interested in any sort of physical activity before, it feels sort of strange.
But I like it.
