Gillette Stadium, home of the New England Patriots, Foxboro, Massachusetts, USA (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Here I was thinking that running for 22 minutes straight on a treadmill meant that I was physically fit to run my first 5K. WRONG. Tonight I decided to see how far I could go on the Smithfield High School Track. Each lap is either ¼ of a mile or 1/3 of a mile, meaning I need to run between 9 and 12 times straight.
Well I ran around once. Then I walked around. Then I tried to run around again. By the time I finished I ran around about two times and walked around about two times. So between a mile and a mile and third. I’m sure all my panting alarmed the elderly gentlemen trotting briskly around the outside lane, as I hugged the inside like my guts were going to fall out.
I am running my first race on July 3 in Foxboro, Massachusetts. For you New England Patriot fans the race takes you right into Gillette Stadium. And my darling husband and daughter, who hate to run unless it’s part of a basketball game, agreed to run with me. Actually they signed me up and decided to join me just in case I began to procrastinate or back out, as only I can, concerning exercise.
So I’m in a bit of a pickle now, because I have about 6 weeks to train to do 5K without dropping dead.
I am not a runner at heart. I like to cycle, I like to sit in front of the TV even better. I like to read with a bowl of tasty snacks next to me the best.
But I need to run. It’s the fastest way I can think of to get my exercise done. There I said it. And a body in motion stays in motion. Running is good for my cholesterol, my blood pressure, my weight, my energy level, and my mental attitude.
So it’s time to train, train and train some more. I got this.
When I told the Crow that I was going to run a race she responded as I thought she would. “Make sure you don’t fall. You’ll hurt yourself.” Ah, encouragement at every turn. Of course she does worry. Usually unnecessarily and as often as possible. One time when Julia was sitting on an ottoman laughing and leaning backward my mother warned, “Watch out, you’ll bite your tongue off.” She was serious. Severed tongue through a fit of laughter. Julia uses that line on me whenever she thinks I’m being over-protective. It works pretty well, I must say.
Just now I told my daughter that I too was very athletic as a child. She sat and stared at me, a blank look on her chiseled blond beauty of a face. She had just spent the evening at basketball practice for the AAU team she plays on. She’s already made it clear to her father and me that her goal is college hoops and then the WNBA. She just might pull it off too, who knows? But I want her to know that not all of her athletic prowess comes from her Dad.
“Really Jules. I never got any formal coaching, and I only played on one team for one summer. But I was a really good softball player. I used to bike for miles on a daily basis, and I wasn’t bad at tennis either. You don’t believe me do you?”
“Nope.”
I’ll show her. I hope.
