Despite the absence of official beer, I had high hopes for last weekend’s 5K run, the Old Fashioned 10 Miler and Flat 5K in Foxboro, MA. This was primarily due to the distinct lack of hills. Or sand. Or sand in hill form. Glee!
Our shadows waiting for the starting gun.
Hills and I have a long, troubled history, and sand is a recent addition to the list of things that give me the fear, so I wasn’t at all upset that they both decided to make themselves scarce. Add to the mix some brilliant weather (if this is winter then I’m a marathoner), and the fact I had a running buddy who shares the same pace as me, and things were looking up.
With the blazing sun at our backs, Running Buddy and I started off strong … Probably too strong … Definitely too strong (when I say “strong,” I mean a 10.20 pace. It’s all relative, of course). We were going great guns until mile marker No. 2 loomed (when I say “great guns,” I mean me wheezing like a cat with a hairball, and taking my inhaler more than I would have thought necessary. But still, we didn’t stop).
But back to that mile marker …
Stride and Joy 