5k

Today I ran a 5K for my town. (Yeah, remember Hurricane Irene? It destroyed my hometown and also took out my car. The streets where we were running drowned in three to four feet of water). It was the first 5K I've run officially. It was really painful because although I work out a regular amount for an average person, I'm still no runner. 

With every labored pace I took, I cursed myself for signing up for this torture. I can't believe people actually enjoy doing this kind of thing. 

At first, it's really fun because you're passing all these old farts who totally intended on walking the whole thing anyway. The street is packed with people all wearing the official 5K shirt who aren't moving  much faster than snails. You pass on the right, jump in front of a wrinkly old man not wearing a shirt, then you dodge a person running with a dog. It feels great; you're part of this great movement of people supporting a good cause. You're elated, prancing like the race will be over in no time. 

The sad thing is when people with their running strollers, babes in tow, start passing you. Then you're just like, oh, crap, I should run outside more often.

I haven't run in an official capacity since middle school, when I was part of the cross country team. My mom actually made me join it because I had gotten really fat. My greatest victories were when I didn't finish dead last. 

All in all, I made good time -- almost exactly what I predicted. 

One of my goals while I join the work force temporarily (tomorrow!) is not to get fat. If I'm going to be sitting at a desk all day long, I've got to keep up a semi active lifestyle. While I'm no anorexic or health nut, becoming a lardo, jello, or fatty is at the top of my list of greatest fears. 

To keep on track, after the race, I immediately ate a free sandwich. And then I got in line for ice cream. The Dairy downtown just reopened, and even though the line was literally out the door, I had to have some ice cream. I ate the entire thing and enjoyed every last bite of it.