I am in pain. My legs ache. My ankles ache. I've been upping my running this past weekend in preparation for my very first 5K. I'm slowing it down as Sunday approaches. My time is getting better, so I am happy.
Do I like running? Not yet, but I want to be a runner. I have this thing of if I don't like something I will try to immerse myself in it until I do. Case in point: I did not like T.S. Eliot. So what did I do? I wrote papers on him in college. Guess what? I like him. I tried the same with Ernest Hemingway; let's say that now I appreciate him more than before. Actually, the more I write fiction, the more I like his style. I want to be a runner, so I am making myself be a runner. It's not fun, but it is growing on me. When it hurts, I tell myself that there might be a day when I can't do this anymore.
Sunday is the big day. It will be in the morning, which is good. Get it over. My goal is to finish strong. That's all. I am not focused on the time, though I would like to be done before 40 minutes. That is a long time, and it is a time I am beating now, but I do want a semi-tangible goal for myself other than completion. I want to enjoy it too. You only run your first race once.
I hope I get a medal.