Hello people of the internets. So over the weekend Jeff and I participated in the Komen Breast Cancer Race For The Cure. Jeff's mom died of breast cancer shortly after we were married so his family has done it a few times now. Jeff's brother had a team and I had been on the fence all last week as to whether I was going or not because a) it required getting up early on a Saturday, which I hate doing and b) required me to exert energy outside of my normal working out. I work out only because if I don't, I cause myself to feel extreme fat ass guilt, not because I actually enjoy it. Well, sometimes I enjoy it but that time is RARE. Anyway, I decided on Friday night that I would go and do the walk, which Jeff said was a couple of miles. Okay fine. My father in law picked us up at 7:30am and off we went downtown. When we got there, I realized that there were a bajillion freaking people that did this which made the whole thing confusing so I just followed along and hoped I ended up where I was supposed to be. We made our way down to the sponsor tents where they had lots of giveaways and stuff but it was a logjam so we just hung out until they announced that we had 15 minutes left til the start. Jeff's brother led the way and we somehow ended up at the very start where the runners line up. Our plan was to wait it out until the walkers came by and then we would just blend in the crowd. Well, all I know is that as soon as the horn blew, the crowd surged and we suddenly realized we were in the middle of the runners. I looked at Jeff and upon the realization that we could NOT get out of the crowd, we started to run. Now, I am not a runner. I was the kid who had notes in gym class to get out of running. I tried to take up jogging some years ago but it lasted all of about 50 feet before I realized that it totally sucked and that was that but now we're running. And running. The crowd was pretty thick and it took a good 5-6 city blocks before we could even get over to the side to slow down and figure out what to do. Jeff's dad, who is in his 70's was still running along like it was nothing so we both decided we would try to keep going so we didn't look like total lushes. Well, long story short, we ran the 5K. That's 3.2 miles for you mathletes. When I say "ran," I mean jog/run with some fast-ass walking sprinkled in to get our breath. I did okay and I was pretty proud of myself until I got to the last mile stretch and that's when the pain set in. I felt like my hip bones were grinding into each other and my thighs were throbbing and I had a massive blister in my pinkie toe and I was sweating like a big fat man. Keep in mind we did NO STRETCHING WHATSOEVER and just started running, so my body was clearly pissed off and was going to make me pay. I was thirsty and sweaty and just wanted to be done but I was so close to the end and Jeff was like "baby, let's sprint to the finish line, okay?" and I was like "okay" and off we went at full speed. Clearly I was delirious from the heat. I finally made it to the end and almost ran smack dab into Rene Knott, who was standing there interviewing someone. Then I did the worst thing possible. I stopped. Dead stop. Don't do this. My legs felt like they had locked up and I had to go find a spot to try and stretch out but the damage was done. We ended up finishing in about 38 minutes or something so yay for us!
Cut to yesterday. I was so goddamn sore that I could barely walk. Seriously. It was difficult to take a step and forget about stairs or comfortable peeing or anything. My legs hurt from my hips to my knees (and they STILL hurt today). We were supposed to go to an adoption picnic but I just couldn't make it so we had to bag it. Part of me is so super proud that I did it that I actually suggested that we try to take up jogging the right way with the training and stuff. The other part, the sensible part, is telling that part to shut the hell up. Either way, I ran a 5K and that's pretty damn cool.