My first 5K

Saturday, I ran my first 5k. It was the 2-38 CAV 5K Turkey Trot/Shadow Run and I did it because I thought it would be neat to run alongside my boyfriend who was also running it at the same time with his people in Afghanistan. It would have been neat, if he actually ran it, but he didn’t because of an injury. By the time I found out, I had already committed to the run – so, part of the ‘neatness’ was gone - but I was kind of excited about it, honestly.

Let me say that I think a lot of things are neat and I do them impulsively – sometimes that’s a hit or miss for me like the time I decided to try handstand pushups on my own. Big miss. Running a 5K with no previous training and not running more than a mile or two at a time is not the smartest thing I ever did.

So, in preparation, the night before, I decided to try and do a practice run on the treadmill. 5K is roughly 3.2 miles. I wanted to find a good but fast enough pace that would allow me to make it through the run without stopping, puking, dropping dead or looking like I was about to do any of the above.

After about two miles, my lungs were on fire. I decided to do the third-point-two mile in the morning before the run.

Don’t ask about the logic on that one. It made sense at the time.

In the morning, I did the other 1.2 miles and some weight training and felt good about the upcoming run. That is, until I got to the location of the run and saw how many kids were participating. I’m not a competitive person, but there’s something about not being as fast or having as much energy as a 10 year old that’s an ego buster for me. Quietly in my mind, I made a deal with myself that even though I would not leave my run buddy Erin behind, but I was not going to let these kids beat me.

Every single one of them beat me, unless they were in a stroller.

Don’t get me wrong, I am proud because, for never having run a 5k, we ran the entire way except about .25 miles of it that included a steep incline – my legs were not hearing that one at all. But sometime before the race, I had verbally challenged a 10-year-old girl who not only beat me by a whole 15 minutes, she made sure to flash her medal in my face - continuously. If she wasn’t so adorable, that medal would have mysteriously made it to the top of the barn at the ranch where the run took place. There is no shame in my game, people.

I would like to officially thank my two South African friends – who kinda sorta said they would not leave Erin and me behind during the run - for taking off like bats out of Hades – they were like gazelles. Especially the professional runner who insisted she had not trained in months … once a runner, always a runner. It was actually quite impressive and now I have a new goal: to run a 10K – or at least two 5Ks.

But I do need to send a special shout out to my run buddy, Erin. Erin, thank you for keeping my pace, I know you could have done it faster, even after the red bull and vodkas the night before, because you are in way better shape than me. There’s another 5k in Temple Thanksgiving morning.

Wanna do it?

Dear Haters: A Letter

So, I've been writing on this semi-fictitious book for the last 6 months and made it through two chapters. I figure if I post a little bit at a time, it will motivate me to write more. It's the true – if not slightly exaggerated - story of my rise and fall to local fame - some things I'm proud of, some not so much - but entertaining nonetheless. The people in it are real as are the events although I’ve changed the names to protect certain people from having to take accountability for their actions like a real grown-up should.
 
Dear Haters,

You will be pleased to know that I am typing this with my middle finger.

It has come to my attention that although I no longer live in the vicinity of Dramaville, the mere fact that I still exist bothers every one of you to the point that I am still the focal point of your gossip. Maybe you haven’t figured it out, but the more you talk about me, the more famous I will become. By trying to tarnish my professional and personal reputation, you’ve vaulted me to a kind of rock star status.

I suppose a small thank you is in order, without all of your incessant gossip and slander, I wouldn’t be as popular as I am today. I’ve become a … local celebrity – if you will. I always wanted to be famous, but imagined achieving that notoriety from being an A-list actress – unfortunately, that didn’t quite work out. You’ve spun stories of my supposed misadventures, misdeeds and whorish shenanigans that probably would have exhausted me, or killed me, had I actually had to do all of it myself. You know, I’m not even geographically local anymore, yet I’m still relevant in your conversations – which kind of makes me more than a local celebrity – it makes me national. And that kind of makes me giggle.

So, without further ado, I should probably thank a few people personally.

Let me start by thanking my former BFF for altering and airing my dirty laundry. There’s discretion and then there’s diversion, and even though all my mistakes and poor choices were made well within my social and marital status (single), by using me to divert attention from your own selective morals and indiscretions you unwittingly helped launch my local popularity. Thank you and I hope you enjoyed my hand-me-downs, I blessed both of those married bastards for you.

To the best friend - you were always there for me until it was no longer socially advantageous for you to be – thank you for always saying you had my back. I had no idea that meant talking behind it, but I suppose if you didn’t, most of what was and is going around about me wouldn’t be enough for anyone to believe. You can sell a story like you can sell your virtue to those who don’t know any better. Keep living ‘la vida loca’ honey! It suits you like the pound of make-up you paint on every morning to try and hide what’s underneath.

Every celebrity has to have a stalker and I would be remiss in not mentioning mine. I’ve never met you personally, but somehow you know me … and befriended all my frenemies. You deluded yourself into thinking I cared but I was merely amused that you were so threatened by my existence you felt the need to join in the hate parade. But you played your part so well; even opened up fake Facebook accounts to fake-mail people – as me! Well played, sister, well played.

If you’re wondering why I decided to finally reply to the high school, mean girl bullying, it’s because I found a way to be cleverly witty about it – and I’m bored. The truth is, I don’t care what you think about me. I am happy, but clearly you all are not. So, please, feel free to say anything negative or degrading about me if it gives you the confidence to get through your day – and even your life - because mine is pretty good. Granted, it’s not as exciting as you have made it out to be, but it’s good enough that I’m not counting anyone else’s blessings but my own. I’d say that’s a win.

I realize this entire situation is my fault – somehow. I have a big mouth with no filter. At least you know what I really think and you heard it from me first, not everyone else. I suppose that’s the real difference between me, and all of you. No, I take that back. The real difference is that I’m a grown ass woman who left high school back in 1992 – where it belongs.

So, in the middle school dialogue that you can understand, I dedicate this to you – my h8rz.

Sincerely,
Chick who doesn’t give a shit anymore

PS: Not talking about you, rock star. Anyone who can own up to being a bitch and leave it in the past is respectful in my book. Literally.