Monday I ran a 6k.
I use the word run loosely; mainly I was moving my feet slightly faster and waving my arms a bit.
Now to understand the humor in this you have to know something about me. I don’t run. But three weeks ago I decided to join my husband in his annual Turkey Trot. (It’s a five mile run on Thanksgiving held in Buffalo, NY) So I decided that might require me to, you know, get off the couch.
So three weeks ago I got up at 5:30 (am) and started moving. It wasn’t pretty. But I’ve kept with it, and when my husband called me on Monday and asked if we could take a slight detour on our weekly date on Monday for him to run a 3.4 mile race, I said sure, as long as I could do it to.
What he didn’t tell me was that it was an off roads trail. Uphill.
When I started, I was determined to do three things: Finish. Finish in under an hour. Not finish last.
At least I got two of the three.
Yes, it is a very humbling thing to be that last one to go across the line, with your husband who came back to find you, to everyone cheering and you know they’re only cheering because now they get to go home.
I tried to convince myself that surely I wasn’t the last one, there was that girl I passed who was texting and the woman walking her dog, but people taking down the props is hard to argue with.
But, at least I wasn’t home, sitting on the couch.