Panic Attacks And Pride

Hey.

Remember how I freaked out about The Rose Run being less than 100 days away?

Remember how I tried to talk myself out of giving up and resigning myself to the ranks of Quittersville?

Then maybe you also remember the fact that Alicia and I have decided to do the Dexter/Ann Arbor 5K on May 31st of this year.

That is 2 weeks away, my eager friends.

I don't like to swear...wait, that's a lie...oh shit. I know that I can run 2 miles straight without dropping over in some sort of seizure induced by running but a 5K is just over 3 miles. I haven't run that far yet. I can't even begin to wrap my ever delusional mind around that distance. You know, I read article after article about people that run marathons and I'm amazed at their athletic prowess. I 'ooh' and 'aah' over the fact that they are so hydrated they have to stop and pee in bushes every hour, I find the fact that they have blackened toenails or missing toenails really gross but in a "grrr, I eat people like you for breakfast" kind of way, but most of all I read about or talk to people who run anything over 2 miles a day and I feel like a loser of epic proportion.

Oh jeez, I totally suck.

But you know what? I don't care. I don't care how bad I suck or how many 95 year old women with bad hearts pass me.

Well...maybe I care a little bit. I haven't had a full-blown panic attack just yet. I've actually never had one of those to my knowledge but shoot; this is as good as any time to try one on for size.

With all my luck I'll have an attack the minute the run starts and The Sprite will have to kick me in the shins to get my butt going. Maybe if she ran in front of me with a bottle of wine...Hmm...