I think I have pretty good ideas.  Most of the time my ideas rock, in fact.  Like, adopting a dog –  Destro is my child, quitting my job to stay home and write – SCORE because the commute is quick, and turkey kielbasa is a fine substitute for beef – that’s right BIRD is the word.   So, when I decided to run in an 8K (5 mile) race in November, my streak of righteous ideas was apparently over.  Note: I am making The Hubbs run with me.

This all started while I was on the treadmill at the gym.  I was finishing up my 30 minute run when suddenly I was transformed into an athlete.  I didn’t want to stop running.  I wanted to run for as long as I could. I imagined that I was a long-distance runner in the summer Olympics with packets of liquid carbs tucked in my sports bra.  I was long and lean and running toward the finish line of a marathon.  I lasted for five additional minutes. 

I’m just not meant to be a runner.  Seriously.  I am not aerodynamic.  I am not tall with long springy legs and I turn bright red after five minutes of cardio, which can be scary to those that don’t know I’m not having a heart attack.  Oh, and I hate being sweaty.  But, there’s something about making the decision to run a race in November that was satisfying and exhilarating.  I guess it’s the idea of doing something I never thought I would do.  I never thought running could be a part of my routine.  No one would believe me if I told them I was going to run five miles.  Then there’s the whole running in public, being sweaty and jiggly in front of other people – hundreds of people.  Plus, I will probably be bringing up the rear (in more ways than one *wink*) in the race.  The proverbial tortoise.  Do you get a prize for finishing last? 

And, what does one wear when running this distance?  I cannot wear those itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny running shorts.  No thank you, ma’am.  My thighs will thank me to stay away from those.  I will stick with, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, my tight black knee length running shorts. BTdub: I have gotten more than one unsolicited compliment on my shorts by random  gentlemen, so they MUST be flattering (Aunt Louise, “BTdub” is short for “BTW”, which means “By The Way” – loves!  Thanks for reading).  Unfortunately, I don’t think they’ll make it to November.  Holes in my shorts might come off as a bit tacky.  And I do NOT do tacky.  Maybe I’ll go with the calf-length pant, but then there’s the issue of undergarments.  Honey, do not tell me to go commando.  I do not appreciate the appearance.  I also do not appreciate the wedgies I get wearing regular undies while running.  What’s my happy medium?  And, could someone run next to me carrying a bottle of water and a sweat rag? And a mascara wand for touch-ups?

Right.  So, I’ve already paid the forty dollars to register The Hubbs and me for this race.  There’s no going back.  It’s kind of like the marriage license.  That cost forty dollars, too.

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