I ran–and survived–my first 5k last weekend.
When my friend, Rebekah, e-mailed on Friday to see if I still wanted to do it (after backing out of attempting to train for a 10k race in July, I had mentioned the possibility of running this 5k), she bribed me by reminding me that I’d get a T-shirt with a dorky picture of Shakespeare on it. The race, after all, is called “A Midsummer Night’s Run.”
Okay, so she actually didn’t say “dorky,” but it is kind of dorky, and I like it in all of its dorkiness. It resonates with me.
So I hesitantly agreed, wishing I hadn’t decided to pretty much give up on running as a valid part of my life two weeks ago. All I could do now was rest and drink lots of water. One last training run wasn’t going to help anything.
Then came Saturday afternoon and the storms rolled in. The sky got darker and darker, the wind picked up, our chairs on the front porch blew away, and our trees in the backyard were whipping around frighteningly. J and I were sanding drywall mud in the upstairs bathroom during this time, so we had a pretty good view of it all out the window. I called Rebekah to find out what was going on down in Lexington, and she said the race was still on.