5k

My uber-bossy sister in law is making me run a 5k during the first weekend of spring break. She’s so pushy and mean sometimes.  Like when she said, {I’m doing a fun run, want to do it with me?}   Don’t bully me, bitch!   
And “fun run”?  Yeah.  Fool me once… like the last time I ordered the JUMBO shrimp at Red Friggin Lobster.  Not gonna happen.
Okay. So it is gonna happen. I said yes.  Partly because she’s so scary and mean and also because three miles sounded a lot shorter than 5k.  I never have been good at conversions or the metric system.  Did I mention sneaky? She’s a cunning one, that Jenny.  With a voice like Snow White.  I think I said no the first time and then she twisted my arm or said, {everyone is doing it} and I have to do what everyone else does because I want people to like me.
Since I am so insecure about my decision and completely nervous about the whole thing, I thought I’d put down some of my fears in writing.  You know, so I can face them one by one and murdalize them.  Like Chuck Norris would do if he wasn’t so fast he could run around the world and punch himself in the back of the head.
The {Why am I so scared of running a 5k race called “The Bunny Hop” benefiting the American Cancer Society}….list.

1. I am going to fall down. {a lot} This is something that happens when I’m walking, so it’s not something I need to swallow with a grain of salt or sugar or whatever makes the big pills go down.
2. I will look red and sweaty after approximately six minutes.  Why six? Because I’ve timed these things.  I like to know the exact moment I go from “hottie” to “nottie”.
3. I’ll poop. This is just a fear I have in general.  It’s never ever happened to me in public before, but big occasions like these are a prime opportunity for fecal embarrassment.
4. There will be nothing fun about it, nor will bunnies be participating.
5. I won’t finish.  I know this one should be my biggest fear, but poop holds precedence always.
6. There will still be no cure for cancer if I do it.  But if I don’t do it, it will be like I don’t care about finding a cure for cancer.  And what if MY registration fee is just the funding boost those cancer researchers need to find THE ACTUAL CURE???

I’m nervous.  I can barely run for a whole minute without feeling like dying.  But I want to do it.  So I can say I did it.  And maybe I won’t have to tell anybody I barfed in the middle of mile one. Or that my thong chafed my crack so bad I had to apply diaper rash ointment for the rest of spring break.  Or that my sister and father in law were hanging out at the finish line for me in lawn chairs with their feet propped up smoking cigars and talking about the time they left me in their dust.  Maybe when I tell the story of how I ran a 5k,  I will conveniently leave out the part where I walked most the time, but really really fast.  I need to make a new list.
On a side note: When they do find a cure for cancer… do all the people who have ever run races or donated to cancer research projects get to say they helped?  Because I’m gonna.