SNOWY 5K

Today I have signed up for Run for the Troops 5k.

I can't run.  Sometimes I can jog a little bit, for short distances, anyway, although once I made it about 1.25 miles on tar.  I'm fine on a treadmill, but put me outside, and suddenly my legs are all, "What the hell are you doing to us, woman?"  So, when I say I am doing a 5k, I mean I mostly walk it and jog some.

Doesn't help much that Mother Nature takes a giant white dump on all of us this morning.  It's snowing, the sidewalks are ice-covered, and the wind gusts are so strong that my scarf almost blows away.  Even when I jog a little bit, I am taking my life into my hands (or, in this case, my feet) with the slush on the route.

During the last mile, there is a good deal of downhill roadway ahead.  I start chatting with a gentleman about my age.  He is doing much what I am: walk, jog, walk-walk, jog, walk some more, jog a little bit...  He admits, "I like to set a distance ahead of me and see if I can jog that far."

"Me, too," I say.  Then I tell him, "Hey, let's see if we can jog to that sign way up there!" 

Of course, the sign isn't that far away, but once we start jogging, it could be in frigging Timbuktu.  There are two signs to pass before we get to our target sign, and I huff and puff and complain, "I should've said THIS sign..." as we pass by sign #1.  We high-five each other when we make it to the third sign, and we pick up another walk-jogger along our way.  In the end, I can only jog a little bit toward the end of the course, but I finish.  That's the important thing.

Now when I wear that shirt again, I'll wear it with the pride and knowledge that I finished this 5k.  Seriously, if the troops can put themselves through harsh conditions to keep us safe, I can walk-jog through the snow for an hour, right?