I Never Did Care for the Metric System

Kilometers. Ten of them.

Honestly, it wasn't that great. I was hot and tired. I hadn't eaten very much the day before which in retrospect was quite the unfortunate oversight. I felt oddly stressed out by the whole ordeal. Obviously, this was not a big deal. A local race. My first race at that. Why would I have any expectations other than just completing it.

But now that I have entered this whole running world, I have one more area to place unrealistic expectations on myself and then more evidence that I'm really not athletic.

See I told you so.

Jr. high volleyball was my first clue. High school tennis was another one. I could go on. Fighting the very genes that make you is exhausting. I'm "be just OK enough to participate but never quite rock it out" Girl.

Where's my cape?

Which then propels me to continue to embark on that challenge just to prove that I'm not as pathetic as I first thought. So the whole thing becomes, not about enjoying the run and being healthy, but about engaging in this weird inner-dialogue in which I simultaneously berate and encourage myself. I have these two needs that seem to be mutually exclusive, yet somehow cohabitate within my head. I need to beat myself down with jeering insults and then I need to prove to myself that I'm really not what I told myself I was. I think healthy people just deal with these things when they present themselves via other people. I just save other people the trouble.

All this to say, I have to run another dadgum 10K. I've entered in to this tolerate/hate realtionship with running and now I can't quit it. I should have seen this coming. I knew better.

On the upside, I did burn 1255 calories. So there's that.