Yes, we're here to run. Getting nervous, really sorta wishing I'd been gently tapped by a slow moving automobile so I wouldn't have to run this thing.
In fact, no, I can't stop fiddling with my Pearl, trying to find the exact right song to start this run. (By the way, it was Lenny Kravitz "Are You Gonna Go My Way" that worked the charm).
Aw hell, what the frak am I doing here again? I feel like my eye is going to twitch itself out of my head....
And BOOM, like a...slow moving bison, a lemming, a three-legged deer...I am off! That is supposed to be me kissing my boys good-bye for a bit. It looks like I'm giving an Italian hand signal.
I'm making it to the finish, just a few more feet. This little whippersnapper tried to sprint around me at the end, and I was of two minds whether to be a nice adult and let him pass since he was a young 'un, or whether to run as fast as I knew I could at that moment and smoke that kid. Which way did I choose?
Oh yeah, I took the high road, that led right by the smoking section. I earned my run, and I decided it wasn't so much about the little squirt after all. Yes, that's what I'm telling myself, and no, my maturity level hasn't increased much lately.
The post-race endorphins are unbelievable. So are the shin splints.
But I did it. I said I would, I signed up, paid for it, and even with all the craziness of the past week, the rain the day of, the acid stomach and nervous nausea, I came, I saw, I blanched, I regrouped, I surrendered, and I RAN all but twenty seconds of this sucker.
And I'm going to do it again. In December--Reindeer Run. These runs might be addictive....
