59:59

I came. I ran. I'm sore.

Oh, and I finished. So that's something. But there are no trophies or awards for for 152nd place. Although I did get a t-shirt and a glass mug. There are no acceptance speeches, either. So I will make my acceptance speech here, in writing, to you, loyal blog readers.

After all, it was you who inspired me to get out of bed Saturday morning and run. In a sense. I was lying in bed at 6:45 thinking that I really did not feel like running. I really had not trained to run a 10K. And I really would like to go back to sleep for a couple more hours. Then I remembered.

I had blogged about running. I had to do it. Everyone would be getting to work Monday morning expecting to read about my race. And so it was decided. I could not let my blog readers down.

And yet another use is discovered for this thing called a blog. Motivation. Accountability. Perhaps I should try this with all my personal goals. If you blog it, they will come you will do it.

The weather was warm and humid. 77 degrees at the start of the race. I felt really good for the first 2.5 miles or so. And OK up until about 4.5 miles. There was a water station there. And shortly after that, as the sun beat down and my legs threatened to go on strike, I remembered something I already knew. It's all in your head.

Running becomes at least 90% mental at a certain point. From the 5-mile marker on, there was a constant battle going on in my mind. The lazy-Kevin-James-looking-Bone on my left shoulder kept reminding me how easy it would be to stop and walk. Or deposit my innards along the side of the road. But the fit-and-trim-body-of-a-taut-pre-teen-Swedish-boy-Bone on my right shoulder kept telling me to press on.

And so I did. It's nice to win that mental battle. At one point in the last mile, I began singing in my head the old gospel hymn "The Last Mile of the Way." And I may or may not have heard angels singing. I'm not sure if that helped. Or whether I thought it was referring more to the last mile of the race, or the last mile of my life.

There's a sense of accomplishment in just finishing the race. I had loosely set four goals for myself. Finish. Don't finish last. Run the whole way. And finish in under an hour. I did not know how realistic the latter was. Since I had not been training for a 10K, and had never run farther than 4.5 miles at one time. But I made it. By one second. Mission accomplished. Back to bed.

After liberally coating myself with generic Ben-gay (it's sad when you don't even have real Ben-gay), I took a short nap. The Equate ben-gay may cost twenty cents less. But it smells just as bad. And easily transfers from body to bed sheets. And lingers a bit. Even after one time thru the washing machine.

Went to see Poseidon Saturday night. Not something I was dying to see, but some friends were going and invited me. Had read poor reviews, but after seeing Richard Dreyfuss was in it, I was hopeful. But his role was all but pointless. What a waste of talent.

I wouldn't recommend it. It felt rushed. There was very little character development. Three of the female characters were all very similar-looking so that whenever they'd show one, I had a hard time telling which one she was. And while most of the special effects were good, a couple were cartoonish. The best part of the movie, besides the gratuitous Emmy Rossum wet-shirt cleavage shots... was... uh... oh, right. Josh Lucas. He was excellent.

The title of this post has a sort of double meaning. Besides being my time in the 10K Saturday. Tonight is the season finale of 24. I can hardly wait.

"You may need me there to carry all your weight. But you're no burden, I assure..."