3.1 Miles and a Lot of Feelings About It

Finished my first 5K this morning. That sentence looks extremely normal typed out and I keep rereading it like it's going to change.

I got there early, obviously, because apparently that's just who I am now, and stood around in the cold with everyone else doing that thing where you shake your hands out even though your hands are fine. The gun went off (not actually a gun, just someone with a very loud voice and a clipboard) and I ran. I ran the whole thing. I did not die or stop or walk the hill even though the hill had opinions. My calves are currently filing a formal complaint and I am choosing to treat that as a badge of honor.

the sit-on-the-curb-and-stare portion of the morning

The part I didn't expect: after I crossed the finish line I just kind of sat down on the curb and stared at the pavement for a while. Not sad. Not even that triumphant. Just, present, I guess. Like I was waiting for my brain to catch up with my legs. Diane finished about two minutes ahead of me and didn't say 'I told you so,' which I appreciated. She just handed me a cup of something hot and went to find her car. That felt right.

proof of life from the feet up

I've been thinking lately about what these runs have actually been, and I said some of it in the last post, the application one, but this morning made it clearer. I started coming to the rec center because I had no idea what I was doing with anything. I kept showing up. And then this morning I ran 5K in December in the cold and sat on a curb feeling genuinely okay. That's not nothing. That's actually kind of a lot. Spring semester starts in January. I'm registered. I'm tired. I'm going to go take a nap and then eat something embarrassing like a whole bowl of cereal at noon and I am not even going to feel bad about it.