30 Seconds

My friend mentioned a St. Patty’s day 5K (March 14th) that she and her husband were going to do. When I mentioned I was going to run, my husband said he would run also. Cute! The 4 of us would run.

A few weeks ago when we were all together I started talking schmack. Oh, how I love talking schmack. Of the 4 of us, I am the one who routinely works out and runs. My friend challenged her husband so I felt compelled to challenge mine.

A week prior to the race I started regretting my schmack talking just a little. I haven’t had many opportunities to run outside (thanks to the weather) but do run on the treadmill. The problem is that running outside is so much different (harder) than running on the treadmill. So last Tuesday, after preschool drop off I came home and ran 3.2 miles. It hurt a bit as we have huge hills in our neighborhood. My time was not where I wanted it to be either. I was still thinking I had a slight chance; my husband has not been working out or running. My friend’s husband ended up backing out because he got sick and was put on medication. Whatever!

It rained on Friday right through Saturday. We all agreed that we do not run in the rain, so we kept track of the forecast for Sunday. Sunday at around 11:30 am we decided we were a go. The race started at 1:15.

There were so many people cramped into the street. A lot of people were sporting their lucky green. Me I had on my lucky pink. We had placed ourselves kind of in the middle of the pack. The horn finally blew and people started taking off. Shortly after I crossed the starting point, I tripped on something and fell. My first thought was I was going to be trampled by a bunch of people. Luckily, my husband saw and reached back to help me up. Not a great start.

My husband ended up taking off ahead of me and I did not see him until the turn around point. He was not that far ahead of me but far enough that I knew I wasn’t going to catch him. It seems like I spent most of my time trying to figure out how to maneuver around people during the run.

Well, my husband beat me by 30 seconds. 30 freaking seconds. A good wife probably would have shaken his hand and said nice job especially because he has not prepared at all. Not me! I will find another race. No, me competitive, not one bit.