And, believe me, you need a recovery run after running 10 frickin' miles.
Considering I wasn't any kind of runner before I started doing this, 10 miles was a huge milestone to me. We had only run 8 miles prior to the 10 and it was definitely right around the 9th mile that I started to REALLY feel the run taking its toll on me.
Luckily I made it to the finish line without wanting to totally collapse. Most of all, I just wanted to sit down. That's a lot of time to be on your feet! Sitting down and eating a massive breakfast afterward was the perfect therapy. Not to mention a coma-like nap afterward.
The week after the 10 mile run, we did the 6 mile run in order to let our bodies recover from such a shock!
And moving on to an amusing anecdote...
I have found people's relations with me very interesting since I have taken on this challenge. While most people's reactions have been overwhelmingly supportive, there have been some mixed responses in the bunch that are quite puzzling to me.
This is one I will probably remember forever!
Since I have been putting in a good amount of mileage on the pavement, I have noticed that I'm starting to get tan lines from my sports bra and am pleased to have a less-than-pale countenance - especially for this time of year. In other words, I'm more tan than I have ever been in November/December.
The other night I ran into an old family friend who hadn't seen me in a while. After we got past our hellos and how are yous, he paused and quizzically looked at my face. He said, "So, it looks like your skin is a different color."
Decidedly ignoring his lack of courtesy, I nodded and said, "Yes, probably. Maybe because it's tan?"
He doubtingly giggled to himself and said, "Could it be a type of glow....because you're...expecting?"
EXPECTING? I mean, SERIOUSLY? First off, don't comment on my skin color. Ever. There's no point, it just isn't necessary. Second, don't EVER EVER ask a woman if she's pregnant if you're not 100% sure - unless she's in the delivery room and you can see the baby coming out.
I looked at him in shock and replied, "Umm, no. Definitely not."
After setting him straight, I also realized that perhaps I LOOK pregnant and it's not just a skin color thing. And that was SO not what I needed that day.
I continued with, "I don't think I look pregnant."
He then had the audacity to give me the triple pat. (You all know it, the dreaded triple pat. Where someone condescendingly, gently pats you three times as if to say, "It's okay that you're retarded, it's not your fault). SO, he TRIPLE PATTED my arm and said, "It's okay, it's the holidays."
Yes.
It's okay that I'm fat.
Because it's the holidays.
I proceeded to tell him that I was definitely not pregnant and but that I was definitely training for the Los Angeles AIDS marathon. I went out of my way to knowingly pause afterward, as if to say "I know you're too poor to donate to my campaign, so I won't ask."
I quickly moved away from him because I felt that if I stayed near him, I might have plucked every hair out of his head.
While this story may seem stupid and completely meaningless, it really shook me. I'm more tan because I'm training for a marathon and I get called pregnant.
I mean, c'mon, gimme a break.
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