I was not the most athletic child.  One could even stand to argue that I was least athletic child among my peers.  I never played a team sport, I walked the mile run, and the most participating I did in youth group kickball was occasionally being hit in the head with the ball.  I was a lot less “Yay! Soccer practice!” and a lot more “Yay!  The newest Animorphs book is coming out today!”  When is K.A. Applegate getting her Pulitzer btdubs?

Anyway, I have a sweet athletic friend who encouraged us to train for a 5K with her.  She is like the Gisele Bundchen of our friend group.  I mean, know that I say this in love.  She is also sweet and thoughtful and the complete package.  I think a meme would help you understand.


So, against my nature, which is laying on the couch occasionally moving to avoid bedsores, I decided to do it!  You only live once right?  I am, solidly, the weakest link in our training group.  I have the stride of an injured pygmy goat.  The majority of the time I am praying to be hit by a car so I can stop running.  And trust me here, running is a really generous term for what I am doing.  I took this time lapse of myself pushing the stroller.

But I WILL run this 5K.  I mean, I think I maybe could run the 5K.  I think I might be able to walk/jog if I don’t break down into hysterical weeping.  What other options do I have?  This 25 pounds isn’t just going to lose itself!


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