|Finish line selfie, like they do.|
2. Yes. I'm training for a half marathon. But it's like this: I've finished two without training, so any sort of sloppy elliptical workout or half-assed walk-run around the block will be better than that.
3. I realized a few days ago that I don't get to say: "Yeah, but I just had a baby" anymore because Said Baby pushed a laundry basket halfway across the room and can point out Max on every page of "Where the Wild Things Are." (Well, almost). And judging from the wrestling match we just had while I tried to change her diaper and get her into pajamas, she is the one who should be carrying me up to bed.
4. It was the first time I had to juice my jugs before a race.
5. I was three blocks from the starting line -- hair un-ponytailed, number not-yet pinned to my shirt -- when the announcer gave the 3-minute warning. So I had to pre-run run, which means I ran a 5-plus-K today.
6. Somewhere around the first mile I realized I didn't have a goal. At all. I wondered if I should make one. I decided not to. Mostly this was just a science experiment, I decided.
7. My first mile split was weak sauce, according to 1990s standards and, I guess, the standards of people who recreationally run 5Ks at 9 a.m. in the wind and rain. Still, it was a pleasant surprise.
8. My second mile split was faster by a minute. I think I grinned when I heard it.
9. I texted Chuck to tell him I'd be done about 5-8 minutes faster than I expected. (The texting-while-running thing suggests a certain lack of seriousness about the sport).
10. When you sign up for a 5K, you do so with the understanding that a heckuva lot of geriatrics are going to leave you in their Ben-Gay wake. It occurred to me today that I could potentially be the geriatric leaving some young poodle in my Ben-Gay wake. There were like 2,000 people running, I must've beaten someone younger and more agile looking. Actually, maybe we are all someone else's geriatric, blah blah Ben-Gay wake.
11. I saw the Finish Line four blocks away. Then three. Then I wondered why I wasn't running faster. I wasn't, like, winded. My legs didn't necessarily feel like jet packs, though. So I went a little faster and then I went a little faster still.
12. I like to work up a teary-coating on my eyeballs when I cross finish lines. Okay, whatever. It's unintentional.
13. It was my worst time ever in the history of my legs, 34 minutes. Totally do not care.
14. Got shirt. Found my family. Took selfie. Ate brunch at Coney Island.
|In my defense, I thought I had some sort of run-timing app. I wasn't, like, checking my email or Tweeting.|