On Saturday, I ran my very first ever 5K, not far I realize, but a momentous occasion nonetheless for someone who use to run only if being chased. By a bear. A hungry bear. A hungry, rabid bear. (I have never actually been chased by a bear, hungry, rabid or otherwise.)
It all started back in mid-September when I heard about a running program called the Couch to 5K. It had a fun name so naturally, I decided to try it. Over the next 9 weeks I ran 3 days each week and slowly built up my endurance. I went from running 60 second intervals with walking between to running 30 minutes continuously.
When I completed the 9 weeks I was supposed to be ready to run a 5K or, 3.1 miles. But the farthest I had ever run was 2.7 miles. What if at mile 2.9 one of my legs snapped off and I had to hop to the finish line? There was no way to know with total certainty that this wouldn't happen. So I had to do a test run just to be sure. One week before the race I ran a course I measured out to be 3.1 miles. Miraculously both my legs were intact as I finished. It took me 33 minutes. I knew I was ready.
On race day I had 2 goals:
1. Don't finish last
2. Finish in 33 minutes (or less)
The race was without incident, there were no hungry rabid bears, I didn't trip, and neither one of my legs snapped off. When I crossed the finish line Chris tried to take a picture of me in my moment of glory. This is what he got instead:
