I do not run.
I do not jog.
I occasionally sprint on the treadmill due to intimidation by the Orange Theory instructor, but my sausage links do not scurry for a significant amount of time.
Sunday, I ran a 5k.
I literally felt like P. Diddy, episode one, when he trained for the New York marathon.
Confused and unprepared.
I also identified with my spirit animal of a corgi:
Short legged, long torso, extremely hyper at the start, then a tater tot that needed to be rolled and coddled by mile three.
Running is strenuous on my short legged corgi body, but for Jordan, the 6’2 long legged gazelle, a 5k is merely a quick gallop of effortlessness.
The weekend was relaxing besides the trot.
Jordan tried to befriend my overweight cat socks, we ran into Carms @ Nespresso, I snagged a D E A L @ Nordstrom rack , and we enjoyed the 75 degree weather we were #blessed with on Friday.
Pain can be interpreted in many ways…To me, it is running any amount of distance, to Jordan it is running errands across town…. Most recently, in the valley.
I tried to cheer him up after the first errand
mile, with Iroha on Ventura, but he was so cranky when we sat down, we both blacked out and ordered way too many sashimi boxes and felt letharg and large for the remainder of the day.
Mid-errand on Montana, he abandoned me for a beer and sports at the Father’s Office.
To each his own.
He didn’t leave me during the #lafoxtrot, and we celebrated my under 35 minute trot with a bellini and crab leg at Sawyer.
While I am happy I completed the 5k, I am sore AF, and literally thought I tore my ACL at Soul Cycle last night.