I ran my first 5k last Monday.
That might not sound like a lot – but I’ve never run more than a mile in my life. I once tried to do that whole “Couch to 5k” running program, but I very soon gave up the running part for the couch part and the whole thing was a waste.
Running has never been my thing. I love a hard bootcamp or a beginner’s Crossfit class, but ask me to run a mile and I will start to cry. Really, I will.
Some people are “ugly” criers. I am a “running” crier. I cry when I run because my body is yelling at me to stop and I can’t get it to stop, like a good parent does with a screaming baby when they want ice cream but there’s no ice cream within a 5 mile radius of them.
But after finding myself watching a handful of NY Marathons and cheering on the heroic people who run 26 miles, I put “run a 5k” on my bucket list.
I didn’t train for it. In fact, I signed up two days before the race, knowing that If I gave myself more lead time than than, I’d back out. I’d find an excuse. I’d google search too many side effects of running a 5k and call it quits.
I did google “How to run a 5k when you can’t even run a mile.”
An then I went to sleep.
The whole time I was running the 5k, in the pouring rain (of course), I kept repeating out loud to myself, “You can do this. You can do anything.”
And I did. I crossed the finish line laughing, mostly crying, and feeling so freakin proud of myself.
