A Likely Lass

probably nothing of consequence

Where was my mind when I decided this?

Some time ago (as in, probably a week or so) I signed up for 10k training. As in, running and/or walking 10 kilometers. MYSELF. No Segways allowed (I already asked).  The 10k is the first week in April, and the training starts January 1st. It will involve weight-training, run/walking, and etc.  I went and picked up my Official Training Team Tee Shirt today and finished the paperwork, so I am Officially Enrolled.

Now that it’s done, this is kind of how I feel about it:

To clarify why I feel such trepidation, I’d like to point out that, for all intents and purposes, one could classify me as a nerd. I play(ed) World of Warcraft from beta. I joined Chess Club in high school and avoided running a mile at all costs. I was helpful, socially inept, and ignorant of the favors a good pair of tweezers could do me. The intervening years have yielded at least better social skills, but fitness has definitely been a tertiary ambition, far behind Culinary Pursuits, Ganking Lowbies, and Trying To Find Mismatched Socks And Failing.

Some of that changed about four months ago, when my flock of doctors collectively threw up their hands and said “Something is wrong with you, but we don’t know what.” It’s not that I’ve been sick, but it all started three years ago after a car accident. Six months after it, I was finally released from physical therapy, but I continued having issues with my back. My doctor fished around but said that probably, after all the accidents I’ve been in (and in my defense, I wasn’t driving in most of them, and the ones I was driving in, I was stationary in a vehicle or on a bicycle) “having a bit of back pain isn’t going to be uncommon.” But then my gynecologist jumped on the bandwagon and declared, quite without merit, that I had endometriosis and/or hypothyroidism. Then there were some other -isms and -sises thrown around, some health scares, more doctors and bills until one doctor finally lifted my diet and exercise restrictions and told me “Look, if something’s wrong with you, you’ll know it. Otherwise, get back to the gym and start eating better. If you don’t feel better, come back.”

Thank god, is all I can say. Three years of thinking something is Terribly Wrong is about two years and eleven months too long.

So I started going to the gym again, eating (somewhat) better, and lo and behold, have started feeling better. My back doesn’t give me much pain anymore, my knees are fine, my internal organs seem to be doing okay, and most importantly, nothing has fallen off yet or developed spontaneous chestburster qualities.

And then of course, in a fit of utter madness, I signed up for the 10k.

And then I realized that hey, I might actually need to train for this.

And then I fell down.

But I got better, and am now contemplating the next thirteen weeks of my life wherein I will be driven like a slave until my legs fall off participating in “group activity”.

The horror.


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