I ran a 5k last Saturday and didn’t die. Yes, I know people are currently training for serious shit like marathons and the Olympics but this was my first foray back into the wonderful world of running so it felt like kind of a big deal. My time wasn’t anything special – I was the last of our little group to cross the finish line – and I didn’t really train (which is so fucking stupid of me and it’s a miracle I didn’t hurt myself) but damn, I had fun. My sister-in-law and I were talking about how during the actual run you’re annoyed and sometimes a little achy or out of breath and then five minutes after it’s over we were all talking about signing up for another race. It could be short-term craziness or a weird endorphin-induced side effect but it did motivate me to start taking the time to run and have that quiet time for myself, guilt-free. And if that something is benefitting my health? Well, that’s a sweet bonus.
I feel like a huge dork for being so excited about this little accomplishment, but I’m also working on not letting my naturally self-depracating nature morph into telling myself that I don’t count. It’s really easy to do that (see the second sentence of this post for proof there), and it’s something I need to work on in my personal and professional lives. I’m expecting you all to hold me to this.