3.2 mile run (5K)

Next week I am participating in a 5K run.  I am not doing this for glory or to prove I can.  If I could get out of it, I probably would, but I promised my mom I would participate with her.  I have a lot of issues with these kind of events, when I was younger we had walk-a-thons that started out to be 20 miles and later dropped to 17K.  We would ask people to sponsor us for a price for each mile we walked and the money went to a charity.  Now, you pay money and run.  Why can't we have a .5k run, walk or crawl around a block.

I haven't really run since 1988 when I pulled a hamstring showing off in a softball practice.  It was a momentous discovery for me in the realization that I made a tremendous catch, had hurt myself beyond belief and no one was watching or cared.  I don't run now unless something dangerous is chasing me and even then, I may weigh my options. 

One of my first grievances with jogging or running is you never see anyone smiling or enjoying themselves.  The runners always look like they are great in pain. Plus the ones who do it regularly love to tell you their war stories. Oh, and what is this with the K? We are in America, not England.  I am running in a 3.2 mile run, not a 5k run. (Curmudgeon Outburst)

Those of you who don't know me may not know that I am not a small man.  I am quite large and overweight.  A fight that I have dealt with all my adult life.  I just hit a milestone age that makes me concerned for how much longer I can even do these kind of activities.  In other words, I am a fat, old guy.  My sweet Mom is also running in this event and puts me to shame in physical activity.

In preparation for next week's event, I drove the course today and mentally prepared for the hills and the heat of next week.  I am a basket case.  I hate working in the heat.  I have this mental picture of the people packing up the race and somebody pointing down the street and saying, "Wait, there's somebody else coming!" Then a huge man barely moving up the last hill with his whole body covered in sweat, a small thud in the earth as each foot falls on the pavement, mother's pulling there children closer to them and Little Jimmy looking up to his mom and saying, "What is it mother, I'm scared?"  Finally I cross the finish line and look around to the five people still standing around.   One person saying, "Well Mister, you made it.  Congratulations." Then he hops in his Yugo and drives off leaving me to find out I had parked farther away than I should have. Next day, body aching in pain, nothing on the mantle, no news in the paper, just the satisfaction of knowing I made it.  I would much rather have the satisfaction of knowing that the other person made it. 

If you are doing a walk or a run there should be a destination, a glory for those that know they will not be first in this race.  I see no purpose in this exercise.  Where's the adventure, where's the challenge?  Now put me in a mall at Christmas, or the running of the bulls, or a preschool birthday party and I will see the point, but in the meantime, say a prayer and watch out for me on the open roads.
~Curtain~