Look, I know, I know. At least I did it. I should be proud that I was at the event at all. Blah, blah, blah.
I'm not, and y'all are just going to have to deal with that.
Why not? I hear you ask. Or someone asked. Maybe I just am hearing things now. The point is, I'm not proud of how I ran.
The usual annoyances happened. My nose started running almost as soon as I did, resulting in some serious mouth-breathing. That's normal for me, though, and happens every time I run. I read up on it, and it might just be that I'm literally allergic to running. Which is hilarious, and annoying, but not really anything I worry too much about. That's not the reason I am so angry with myself over this run.
I'm angry because I had to walk a bit.
Granted, I knew that I wasn't any kind of runner. I've known since primary school. I'm not fast, or good, at the whole running thing. I'm not built for it. I'm built for pulling a plough, or hauling logs long distances. I'm not a cheetah. I'm an ox. Still, having to walk pissed me right off.
More than anything else that could have happened, that was the most aggravating. I'm furious about it. It was stupid and unnecessary, and surprising, since my last few practice runs before the race, while weren't the best performance on the planet, did not require any walking. Why did it on Saturday? Don't know. But I had to, and I'm angry about it. I'd have rather broken my leg, frankly.
You don't understand how sore I am over the whole thing. Not as in muscular soreness (though, for some reason, my forearms were aching Sunday morning.), but the emotional kind of soreness.
Anyway, I wasn't thrilled on Saturday, and so I slouched home, fuming at myself. If you happened to be on the bus Saturday evening and saw someone sitting near the front wearing a scowl, that was likely me. Because I scowled hard, the whole way home. I'm quite upset with myself, really.
Ordinarily, or rather, previously, that might have been enough to make me give up. You see, as a chronic overachiever, if I couldn't do something well when I tried, I would give up and go do something else. Academics came very easily to me. I barely studied in school. I thought all things were supposed to be like that, and if they weren't, well, I'd rather not do them than fail.
I consider Saturday night something of a failure. It grates at me in the same way a bad grade would. But I'm not going to give up. I'm so, so angry that now I'm motivated. I won't ever walk during a 5K race again. And more, my time will be so much better. I finished Saturday's race under the thirty-five minute mark. Next race, it'll be thirty-two minutes. The one after that? Thirty minutes.
Screw you, failure. I'm not beat yet.
I'd like to take the time to thank awesome person and gazelle in human form, Evan May. Evan is not just a good person, a great and patient running partner, but also a kick-arse writer. I love the way he uses words. Do check out his stuff ( this is his site). Evan ran with me, and was nothing but kind and supportive, even when I was fuming and cranky (sorry, Evan!). Also, thanks to Kaylee, who came along too. She's a long-time martial arts student of mine, and I'm really grateful she was there.
I promise that next race, I'll be way better.
Right, I have work to do. I hope everyone's weekend was wonderful.