Jingle Bell WALK.

My run-in with the bucket of Pad Thai yesterday didn't prove to help nor hinder last night's run. I ran a little over 4 miles, and my average pace was 10:28. Not as good as Tuesday's super fabulous 10:16 pace, but I'll take it. I'd love to stay consistent now in the 10:30 area. It seems much more favorable to announce "I run at a 10:30 pace" rather than "I'm so slow that moms running with baby strollers filled with 40lb children pass me". It's kind of humiliating when things like that happen. p.s...is it even OK to put your 40lb child in a stroller? That always makes me feel uncomfortable when I see it, but maybe that's just me.

Moving along...

I'm no stranger to humiliating jogging moments though. The first time that I ran in Centennial Park (where I now do my long Sunday runs), was for a 5K race. It was the same location (different race) where My Gazelle finished the Police Pace 5K like an hour before me.

This first experience with the 5K at Centennial Lake came as a result of Robert.

Hmmm...I think I'm noticing a pattern here.

Back then, Robert had organized a group of runners to wear gear for his studio, "Peak Performance Fitness", during the race. He wanted us to run the race, but he also wanted us to advertise for him by having his logo emblazoned across the front AND BACK of our shirts.

I was cool with that.

I had been training.

A little.

Not much.

But certainly enough to make it through a piddly ass little 5K.

In the dead of winter.

In Maryland.

It was the Jingle Bell Run. That means that it's ass cold outside, and a bunch of total toolbags (like me) get together and run 3.2 miles. Snot flying everywhere. Oh, and we also tie bells onto our shoelaces, so with every wretched step, there is this cute little "jingle". Isn't that adorable?

The reality was that I wasn't prepared at all.

Within the first 1/4 mile, I was pulled off on the side of the road "stretching". In other words, I wanted to turn around and run back because I was way too friggen winded and tired and defeated to go another step. Instead, I paused to collect my thoughts, wipe the snot from my upper lip, "stretch", and then tried to forge ahead.

Again and again (and again), I would start off strong, run for about 2.8 minutes, and then pull off on the side of the road again. It was pathetic.

As if the humiliation of not being able to run even a 1/4 mile without stopping wasn't enough, I was advertising "PEAK PERFORMANCE FITNESS" in huge letters...plastered across my chest as I gasped for air and hacked up a lung.

At one point, pulled over on the side of the road, someone ran by and yelled "C'MON PEAK PERFORMANCE FITNESS! WHAT KIND OF PEAK PERFORMANCE IS THAT??!!"

If I had any energy left at all, I would have turned my shirt inside out.

I finished that stupid race in 34:30. I took a lot of stretch breaks.

At this moment, my only fear is that Robert is going to expect me to wear one of his shirts for the Frederick 1/2. I think that I will humbly decline.

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