10 km

Mario, Mario, Mario, I love you to pieces, but seriously, what were you thinking? This morning I was talking on the phone with my big brother and he informed me that he had inside knowledge that I’d been training hardcore for our 10 km run this weekend, so hardcore that I’d been going on secret runs every night with the intent of kicking his butt on Saturday. Me? Are you kidding me? As much as I’d like to say that’s what I’ve been doing, because really it is kind of brilliant, I’ve actually pretty much been a sloth since my marathon, not lacing up my sneakers, not once, since ripping them off nearly two weeks ago. It didn’t take long to learn my brother’s “source” was my dear husband, who had decided to take it upon himself to send a taunting email to my brother to try and psyche him […]

Remember before the marathon, when I was in that rather unfamiliar calm state, how I mentioned that I more feared the 10 km Police Challenge than I did the marathon? I’m sure it must have caused some eyebrows to raise, I mean seriously, how is it possible I fear 10 km more than 42.2 km? Ohhh there’s good reason, and it all starts with that competitive demon in me. See, I convinced my big brother to join me on this run, and if you think I’m competitive, times that by like 1,000 for him, and even more so when he has the fear of his little sister beating him at anything. As soon as he registered, the first words out of his mouth were “I’m so gonna kick your butt.” Now, I probably should have let that comment go, that would have been the smart thing to do, but nooooo,