Is that guy wearing Victoria’s Secret Strawberry Champagne perfume??? Look at the pretty flowers. That’s cool, flowers in February. I’m paying to do this? Must ditch heavy breather man. AmIthereyetamIthereyetamIthereyetamIthereyetamIthereyet?!?!
A few of the many random thoughts running through my head as I raced Love ‘Em or Leave ‘Em Valentine’s Day 5K Dash around my favorite Green Lake. Very intelligent thoughts, I know, but when you can’t feel your legs, the brain doesn’t really function well either.
Seriously, I’ve decided a 5K race is the longest shortest race possible in the repertoire of running races. It’s short enough that you have to run at a speed where all muscles burn and obnoxious heavy breathers are in Dolby surround sound, but just long enough to torture you with wondering every other second if that’s the finish line just up ahead. Your bladder waits ’til the gun goes off to decide it needs relieving and by the time you cross the finish line, you just plain need that port-o-poddy. The race ends and people wander away like it’s no big deal.
As crazy as it seems, I prefer the marathon. The marathon requires a pace that truly allows you to enjoy a good part of the race before sheer willpower takes over. There’s little like the energy and inspiration surrounding a marathon race day, with thousands of runners toeing the line having just trained for months for this united purpose, and spectators in abundance adding their enthusiasm to the day. It’s thrilling, and I relish being a part of a river of runners stretching for miles. So few things in life genuinely deserve to be a big deal and I like that the marathon fits into the Big Deal Drama in Real Life category.
Green Lake is such a great place to run. It’s the perfect distance from my place to get in a decent daily run and there’s never lack of entertainment to distract dragging feet. Take for instance the little fuzzy tan squinty-eyed dog with the curly tail that always makes me laugh out loud every time I see him, or the random characters like a Laura Ingalls Wilder look-alike complete with the braids that turns out to be a guy, and with a beard no less.
Perhaps the most ironic is I was running on one otherwise unexceptional day and I thought to myself “Ahhh, what’s that smell, it reminds me of Europe...” Ugh, cigarette smoke! Gotta love a place that makes you wax nostalgic about the streets of Amsterdam in a city where smelling smoke is a rare occasion!