I'm not going to bore you with a really long drawn-out history of me running. That would be really... well, boring. Long story short - the first 5K I ever participated in was my freshman year of college. I never ran in high school. I ran in soccer, but it wasn't the kind of running that involved finishing a race with a time. Soccer involved chasing a ball and doing whatever you could to get it in the opposing team's net. Anyway, I never finished a race until 2009 in February. I still remember it. I'd been running consistently in the cold Tallahassee weather, and there was this hill right after the 3rd mile. Well, my friend and I went barreling down the hill and to the finish line. I almost puked because of how fast we were dashing to the finish line.
Fast forward a few months, and I decided to enter the Wine and Dine Half Marathon at Walt Disney World, Florida. Well, I think my mom thought I couldn't finish it, so she suggested trying something a bit smaller. Well, I signed up for a 10K (6.2 miles) in May. I remember the day of the race was after a large storm, and the trail was wet. I twisted my ankle around mile 5 and still managed to finish - slow and steady with a respectable time of about 10 minutes/mile. Well, now I was dreading this half marathon - but unlike the 10K, it was on solid concrete.
Fast forward again to October, and I was on the bus to the start line of the largest race to date. I told myself that when I finished, I'd sign up for a full marathon. Crossing the finish line, I didn't look for anyone in the crowd, though I knew my boyfriend, mother, and father were there waiting for me somewhere in the crowd. My knees ached. My back hurt. My iPod was about ready to die, and I knew I didn't make my time, but the confetti was floating down. I could hear people cheering even though my music was cranked up.
When I crossed the finish line (and didn't fall like those nightmares I'd had), I knew I'd done something that no one in my family had done. I'd finished that 13.1 mile beast, and now I have a pink Mickey Mouse 13.1 decal on my car. But now I want that 26.2 sticker to go on the other side. And you know what? It will be put there... on January 8th.
Fast forward a few months, and I decided to enter the Wine and Dine Half Marathon at Walt Disney World, Florida. Well, I think my mom thought I couldn't finish it, so she suggested trying something a bit smaller. Well, I signed up for a 10K (6.2 miles) in May. I remember the day of the race was after a large storm, and the trail was wet. I twisted my ankle around mile 5 and still managed to finish - slow and steady with a respectable time of about 10 minutes/mile. Well, now I was dreading this half marathon - but unlike the 10K, it was on solid concrete.
Fast forward again to October, and I was on the bus to the start line of the largest race to date. I told myself that when I finished, I'd sign up for a full marathon. Crossing the finish line, I didn't look for anyone in the crowd, though I knew my boyfriend, mother, and father were there waiting for me somewhere in the crowd. My knees ached. My back hurt. My iPod was about ready to die, and I knew I didn't make my time, but the confetti was floating down. I could hear people cheering even though my music was cranked up.
When I crossed the finish line (and didn't fall like those nightmares I'd had), I knew I'd done something that no one in my family had done. I'd finished that 13.1 mile beast, and now I have a pink Mickey Mouse 13.1 decal on my car. But now I want that 26.2 sticker to go on the other side. And you know what? It will be put there... on January 8th.
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