Another post in Incidental Justice's series on running.
For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to do a trail run yesterday morning. I'm not sure *why* I thought this would be a good idea. For a little bit of history, I "ran" in a trail race while I was in law school. And by "ran," I mean that I jogged about one-tenth of a mile then clung to trees while traversing the woods and praying that my ankle wouldn't turn. It took me an hour to finish. It was a three-mile course.
Yesterday morning, though, was going to be a real challenge - the trail was 10K. Actually, there was a 25K course, as well, and while I am stupid enough to run a 10K trail, I am not suicidal enough to run a 25K trail.
Granted, I didn't think I was being stupid by signing up for the 10K. I can run faster than I've ever run before, and I'm in heck of lot better shape than I've ever been, which means that I am now more irrationally conceited than I've ever been. So SHOOT, a 10K wasn't gonna be no thang. I got this.
I got it for about a mile. I mean, I *wanted* to do better, but I got to a point where I was thinking, "Gee, I don't know how much further I have to go so I think I'm just going to enjoy this nice jog through the woods and OH CRAP MY LEGS ARE GOING TO RIP OUT FROM MY BODY AND NO ONE WILL EVER FIND ME HERE BECAUSE I'M SO FAR BEHIND AND I WANT MY MOM!" So needless to say, I didn't run much for the remainder of the race. I *tried* a time or two, but I was hurting enough that I was about to say a word or two that wasn't Jesus approved, so I slowed down to a stroll.
I did manage to cross the finish line; however, I've spent a good portion of the weekend lying down, barely able to move. Perhaps in the future, I will be smart enough to stay away from the trail. For now, I will enjoy my excuse to stretch out on the couch and eat cookies.