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!