5K, or sex?

I finished my first ever 5K race today.

No. I didn’t win. I didn’t place. I’m lucky I managed to saunter across the finish line.

And really, by saunter? I mean, heaving myself, panting, sweaty, red-faced and bitchy over the white line in the sand, while the other fully-cooled off participants (yes, I was last) swapped oxygenating formulas, and hamstring stretches. It was a tad demoralizing, until I realized, a lot of really lazy folks stood around and watched the rest of us run, when they could easily have joined in the…..er……fun.

I certainly am not an Avid Runner - I’m slowly getting into it. I like the end part. The feel really good I finished part. I’m not so big on the sweaty middle you need endurance part.

I’m better at sex. That is my exercise of choice - my endurance is fabulous, the ending is awsome, and I’m so good he’d need a helmut. Not, mind you, that I’ve a Him in mind; just, in general. I can burn a lot of calories in my bed, or, on the countertop, floor, kitchen chairs - and while I’d get all hot and sweaty, at least I’m not a forty minute drive away from a shower! Plus also? I’d not have to wash my own back.

However, as I don’t really see that as a viable Keep In Shape Option, I’ve taken up running. Which I can do with J. We’re pals. Running partners. Even if his ass is to die for in his running shorts. And no, we’re not going to extend our mutually sweaty exercise regimens to include…getting sweaty together. Much as I’d like to.

However. The first one is done. The guys that drive behind the pack to make sure everyone gets back okay just had to follow me; but I made it. Over the hill. Past the big scary dog that tried to attack me, the three tag sales, over the finish line. I considered giving up; but, I had J waiting to make sure I crossed the line. He’d never let me live it down if I didn’t at least finish.

So, I suppose, I can be mediocre at running. So long as I retain the ability to be really fucking awsome in bed.