This morning, I jogged the 2.5 miles over to the start of the Marin Human Race, ran a 5K, and jogged home. I figured it’d be a good workout and a good kick in the ass to get me moving again. Of course, I expected it to be shitty, but I always run a 20:20 even when I run terrible. (Just like I always run a 40:30 10K, which is actually a faster pace, but don’t think about it too hard. It’s a mystery.)
I did not run a 20:xx today. I ran a 21:13. I can’t remember the last time I ran over 21 for a 5K. I don’t think I’ve even run over 21 for a 5K within a 10K in years.
This is what I thought during the race:
- I’ll just run with these girls. Just hang with them.
- Oh shit. Running with these girls feels terrible. I am in so much pain. This is so hard. How am I this out of shape? We haven’t even been running a full minute. There’s no way I’m going to be able to finish this.
- Oops, there go the girls. And we’re like 400m in.
- I am so out of shape.
- Really out of shape.
- This is terrible. We must be at least a mile in. Definitely. We’ve been running for so long. I’ll just glance at my watch. 5:00?!? How are we only 5′ in?!
- Did a 70-year-old just pass me?
- Did a 12-year-old just pass me?
- God, I guess I’ll finish. So slowly. So very slowly.
- I wonder if I look as slow as I feel. Gotta keep up appearances.
- Oh look, two miles in 13:25. That’s not as bad as I thought. It’s not good either, though. Maybe I’ll still run a 20-something.
- Hey, there’s the finish. Oh crap, we have to run all the way around this lake before we get there.
- God, I’m out of shape. Why is this so painful?
- I could pass those guys right ahead of me.
- Nope, no, I can’t.
- Ugh, I am not going to be under 21:00.
- Well, that’s done. At least.