More cowbell.

Tomorrow at about 10:30ish am central time, I will get to cross something off of my list.  I am excited, nervous, giddy, and a little bit proud.  I am running a 5K.  Let me reiterate that I. DO. NOT. RUN.  Period.  Well, at least, I didn't think I ran.  I've never run further than a mile, and that was on the Presidential Fitness Tests in, like, middle school or something.  And, even then, in my youth, I could only pound out a rough 7 minute mile.  A huffing, puffing, total lack of enough oxygen, 7 minute mile.  The kind of exertion that I thought for sure I was going to go into the light and die, right then and there.  I am not an unathletic person by any means.  I played volleyball, and was on our high school's nationally ranked dance team, but running has never been my forte.    I can't pace myself, I don't breathe until I remind myself to.  Really, I'm a hot mess when running.  But, I've been doing it.  I CAN do it.  I've been running those 3.1s consistently, and vigorously, for me, at least. 

All of that aside, I am convinced to the depth of my soul that running is the devil's exercise.  It is pure evil.  Why do I feel this way, even after finding my peace with it, you ask?  Here's why:

How can something that makes me hurt, makes me feel defeated at times, make me want to vomit before, during, & after, makes me want to poke rods in my eyeballs the whole 2nd mile, and makes me want to fall on the pavement in the fetal position, suck my thumb, and call for my mommy, also, make me want to come back for more?

Because I do.

5K doesn't seem to be enough, anymore.  3.1 needs to be 6.2, which needs to be a halfsie, which will HAVE to be a full!  It just doesn't make any sense.  No matter how I spin it. 

It might take me 6+ hours to run a full marathon one day, but, as JC as my witness, I want to do it.  I will do it.  Maybe soon, maybe not as soon as I'd like.  But I will.  I will curse, and spit, and maybe even barf.  But I will love it.  It is 100% self-inflicited pain (mostly mental, of course) AND 100% joy & bliss all rolled up into one neat package. 

Running.

So, to all the runners out there...

I may only be able to hammer out a VERY small fraction of what you can do, but I get it.  I understand the addiction, the obsession, the compulsion.  It's a total head game.  If you can defeat your own little voice saying, "You CAN'T!  Forgetta'bout it, chump!  You're slow, dumb, and too beastly to go another mile or to shave off another 5 minutes!"  Then, let's face it, there isn't much you can't do.  The run is a microcosm for life.  Just keep running.  One more foot, one more meter, one more mile.  Pick up the pace, one more second, one more minute.  Keep running.  Through the pain, the nausea, the lack of air.  Keep going.  Because there is a finish line.  In a race, in life.  It will come, but you have to run through all the crap, and all the good stuff.   Even if you want to stop during those endorphine highs, to relish in the moment, you have to keep going, even if a cramp lay just ahead.  Some of us have an easier go of it, some of us will crawl across the finish line barely conscious.  But you must keep going.  Defeating all of the bad parts of yourself.

Gee whiz, I think I'm in love.  I never, never, never thought I would say that.  Ever.

So, in honor of my first (but not last) 5K...I want to share one of my favorite SNL sketches.  Why?  For the cowbell ,of course.  Tomorrow, if you think about it, pretend you're bangin' on your very own cowbell, and think of me.  Think of me in the hell that is my own little voice telling me, "STOP!  You're tired.  Don't go any further!"  And, push me on.  I will need all the cowbell I can get. 

Enjoy the sketch here.