I’ve woken up at the god-forsaken hour of 6 am, 3 days in a row to go for a run and I’m already prematurely calling myself a runner. I’m pretty much setting myself up for failure.
I’d like to say that I came to a place of self discovery and enlightenment which evolved into a complete examination and overhaul of my life and health where I find myself compelled to wake up for a brisk run each day.
But that’s a load of crap.
Truth is, my 36 year old cousin, who is probably in better shape than any 20 year old, challenged me to run a 5k in 10 weeks. And my pride accepted. Not me, my pride. I would have never accepted this challenge. Why? Because I DON’T RUN! I’m not really a person who takes to sweating very much. I kinda hate it in fact. And even as I write this I’m quite surprised that I’m not texting her at this very moment to say, “You win! I give up!”
Its the pride again.
For the record, I can’t even run a mile without stopping several times and panting like a dog who hasn’t had a drink of water in 6 days. I’m not even joking. If you drive by my street and see me collapsed on the sidewalk, keep going…I’m just resting. I swear.
So I guess I will continue to ravage myself for 10 more weeks until this is done. My body is killing me. I’m walking like an old lady, but not in public. I’m a runner after all and I have a reputation to uphold.
October 1st… I WILL OWN YOU!