I was so wrapped up in my new baking toys yesterday that I forgot to tell you about the long run that Cory and I took on Sunday.
To recap my run in three simple words: I almost died
These girls can scoff at me, but six miles was the closest I’ve come to keeling over in a long time. The longest distance I’ve ever run was a 10K two years ago – but it was a flat course. What we ran on Sunday was the Hill Trail of Death.
Seriously – contestants on The Biggest Loser cry at the drop of a hat. And I’m the one sitting on the couch eating dessert yelling, “Come on! It’s just a workout.”
Sunday’s run has changed my tone.
Around mile 5, I was convinced that my legs were going to give out at any moment. I felt like I was sprinting, but I’m sure passer-bys thought I was on a leisurely stroll.
During the moment in which I felt collapsing and asphalt-eating were imminent, I felt tears coming on. Crying is never easy, but when you’re already low on oxygen, things get real ugly, real fast.
I started wheezing. I was whimpering. I was holding back tears with all my might (read: not much might) while I saw Cory getting further and further away from me (talk about discouraging.) At one point Cory turned around to say something to the effect of “Hooray! We only have one mile left!” and that made me angry. What I wanted him to say was, “We can stop. I’ll carry you the rest of the way, my sweet princess.”
But further ahead he ran.
He reached the “finish line” 30 seconds (read: eternity) before me, and when I finally got there, he held up his hand for a high five. My response?
There’s no (f-word) way that I’m running that half marathon.
I’m such a lady.
When I first told you I was training for this, I promised I’d be honest with the process. Well, there’s honesty for ya. (Do you forgive me?)
PS – I am still running the half. I was just a little upset 😉