6.2

A few months ago I was apparently ravaged by a fever or a temporary insanity or something. While I was out of my mind, I made the suggestion to my husband, who should have known that I was in the grips of lunacy, that we ought to run a 10K. And rather than laugh and press a cool compress to my head, my beloved sent me a list of races and told me to pick one. Still in the throes of my disordered thinking, I suggested we run on July 14, our 11th wedding anniversary and just 4 days after we returned from our cruise, aka the Eatin' Boat.

Now, you should know that I am not a natural runner. I never get faster, I never get that euphoria they talk about. I never feel like I could "just keep running." I run because I want to use my feet for something other than pedicures and because I want to assert dominion over my limbs, not because I'm good at it or anything.

So anyway, when we signed up for the 10K, I had never run further than 5K (3.1 miles). By the time we left for our cruise, I had never run further than 4 miles. Though I ran nearly every day on a treadmill on the ship, by the time we got home I had never run further than 4.5 miles.

Yup, we became those people who use the gym on vacation. Of all the things I never thought we'd become, that was pretty much at the top of the list.

And on the morning of the race I still had never run further than 4.5 miles. But you know what? I did it. With the inspiration of my amazing husband and the cheering of strangers who were kind enough to shout encouragement at the runners, I made it. I ran more than 6 miles, and I wasn't the slowest. Matter of fact, I was kind of near the middle of the pack.

Me.

A 10K runner.

Truly, anything is possible.