This year, I decided to get a preemptive burn on my calories and overindulgence. Since I can’t drop pounds to save my damn life, I might as well do what I can to curb the gain.
No matter how many miles I run myself to death, no matter how many calories I count, NOTHING. Beyond frustrating but on I wog.
Michelle commissioned this brilliant idea, and Trisha and I followed suit.
5K remains the hardest distance for me. 5 miles, 10K, even 10 miles on a good day are just easier. The longer I run, the farther out my float waits for me. With the 5K, I am striving the first two miles, thinking I should be able to run it faster, then float barely at the end when the dry heaves are bubbling.
And I do not get faster. For all that I run, my speed has not changed in probably over a year. I run much farther, and the runs get much smoother but always the same zombie turtle pace. Speed is just not my strong suit, or priority, and 5Ks are not my distance.
That all being said, it was not a bad race at all. The sun was bright, but the air was crisp. The Turkey Trot is apparently THE run to do in Colorado Springs, so the route was nothing but a bobbing pack of bodies the entire duration. I was weaving and getting passed perpetually; it was high traffic. Nearly the first two miles were uphill, which got my heater going.
I just jogged it out and waited for my float. When the float washed over me, I remembered, as I always do in that instant, that I don’t do this for the workout, for the calorie burn, for weight loss–I do it for the sanity. I do it for the float, for that momentary feeling of bliss and clarity, for those brief glimpses of euphoria, for the teasing dances with accomplishment.
My muscles, weak from 6.5 miles the night before, released their acid. I felt the sensation spread under my skin. I ignored it and held my slow and steady pace. I crossed the finish at my normal Colorado 5K time and jogged right into Thanksgiving.