Because I ran a freaking half-marathon yesterday!
Did I get a finisher’s medal? Did I get a free shirt? Was there even anyone at the finish to congratulate me?
No, because I was a moron and just did it during a regular weekend workout instead of an actual race. All of the kids outside the Rec just thought I was some pitiful old dude who was knocking on death’s door after running in from the parking lot. Little do they know that I was knocking on death’s door after traipsing through 13.1 miles of drizzle and cold.
Perhaps that’s being a little unfair to myself; I wasn’t out of breath or dragging my feet or anything. In fact, I was still chugging along at a pretty decent clip all the way to finish. I was definitely ready to be done though. Usually I’m confident that I could keep going at the end of a run, but I know I didn’t have a 14th or 15th mile in me yesterday.
The biggest mistake I made was stopping. That’s when the soreness kicks in. Damn you, 31-year old body. I now understand the whole rationale behind that society in Logan’s Run. Pounding out 13 miles is nothing, but sitting in a car for the five-minute ride home is what kills you. I couldn’t really move or even feel my legs until after the kids went to bed last night.
I guess I’ll be ready for that half-marathon in Austin after all. Good thing, since I signed up for it last week before the registration fee increased.