I survived my very first 5K ever!

My very first (EVER) 5K. Good News! I didn’t come in last. Bad news . . . I was pretty close. All that mattered to me was that I made it across the finish line before the older lady behind me. And I did. I have a ribbon of participation to prove it—mount it, frame it. It’s going on the wall.

Am I slow? Definitely. Am I a runner? Not even close. How did I do? Worse than I had expected (no joke).  I made it across the finish line in 47:someodd seconds. Very, very sad in the realm of running, yet mighty impressive when I thought I would be closer to 60:00.

Yeah, I suck.

Now ask me how I looked. Oh, I’m all decked out. I’ve got the shoes, the quick-dry clothing to absorb and release my sweat, the iPOD arm band, the runner knee straps, and I even have the mighty cool running underwear.

I look like I could be a runner, but it’s just an illusion—it’s all for effect.

This was my test race. I win, because I completed it. I failed, because I didn’t do nearly as well as I had “visualized” (darn that Orlando Bloom).

I have two months until the Ragnar. I don’t think it is enough time. I don’t think I will even be close to ready. (What have I gotten myself into? Stupid, stupid me.)

Hypnosis—not helping. I don’t think the dangling carrot theory is going to work either.

Someone is going to have to pull out the big stick and whack my legs with it or better yet, release the hounds.