The most pathetic 5k ever run in the history of the running of mankind was run last night. The husband and I ran the 2006 Annual Running with the Bulls 5k in Lower Manhattan despite the fact that my throat was on fire and the Holbs’s sinuses had been screaming at him all day. Me, my cankles, and my sweet, patient, ginger-haired athlete of a husband made our way through the Financial District and ran the 3.1 miles in a glorious 47 minutes. A slow, painful, 47-minute death march that halted every block and a half as I prayed that the Lord would let me live to see another day.
Heaven bless me, but I am not a runner.
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