I haven't written a post since March, so cut me some slack here. Hope you enjoy, and do not worry, I will have another post by the end of this week.
To kickstart my birthday weekend, I participated in the Regional Urology "ZERO Prostate Cancer" 5K. I know what you are thinking, 'She did what? Something consisting of physical activity?!' It is true. Things have changed since March, get with the program y'all.
My dad's radio show crew agreed we would all participate in the race considering Regional Urology is one of our biggest sponsors. We arrived at the Sci-Port parking lot around 7:30 in the morning and mingled with some fellow runners (you know it's pathetic when I just laughed after writing that because I can not categorize myself as a runner) when we realized that half of "Team Fletch" was (surprisingly) not registered. Derp. Quickly, we got in the registration line. After about ten minutes of standing in the sun and twiddling our thumbs, we realized that the "registration line" hadn't moved the slightest bit. Noticing the line of people next to us, my intelligent father asked "Is that the registration line?" It was. "Oh, good. We've just been standing here wanting to look at all of you people instead."The lady at the desk did not think it was very humorous, more along the lines of moronic.
We were finally registered and they gave us our race t-shirts (which were made of fabric that even angels would want to lounge in, excellent job R.U.) to change into so that we were all matching. I'm not sure if that is really the purpose of everyone wearing the same shirts, but it is my best assumption. Not once looking for a private changing area, my modest family found the nearest equipment trailer (that'll do champ!) to swap our tops. Aly (the stepmother) managed to change shirts without showing any skin (very skilled) and dad could have been a hooker on Bourbon the way he removed his shirt. I looked around to make sure no one was looking and forewarned them that I was going to change as quickly as possible, no matter what the cost. I removed my shirt (stupidly) when Aly gasped, pointed, then grabbed my ribcage and shrieked "WHAT IS THAT?!" I got a tattoo almost two years ago down the side of my ribcage and had been hiding it swimmingly since the day the needle touched my skin (graphic...). How could I have forgotten? I became very frightened and started mumbling things like "Oh...that old thing?"and "Shit..." under my breath. They took the tat fairly well and only asked me one question: "Is that why you can never come on our beach trips?" It was. Just kidding. Well, about fifty percent.
After we got that little encounter out of the way, we lined up for the race and I decided it would be a nice early Father's Day present if I kept my pace slow and ran with my dad. I also realized that I was in better shape than my dad, not by much, but enough to outlast him in a 5K. I knew that if I was going to need a break at some point, he probably would too. So, by walking with him, I wouldn't like I was tired, I would like a sweet daughter, hanging back with my dad, even though I was clearly capable of running an entire marathon (duh).
We had a steady pace coming up on the first mile marker. Conveniently (and humiliatingly), there was a timer that showed how slow you were going and made you feel worthless (just kidding). At this point, I'd already lost the feeling in my feet but dear-old-dad and I continued running (jogging slower than fast-paced-walking). I looked at the timer thinking it would say fifteen minutes or something embarrassing and began shouting "Dad! We're doing pretty good! We finished the mile in 00:08:52!" Which led to high-fiving (warning: never break concentration) and my dad saying "Man! We're really booking it!"
We ended up running/jogging/fake-running the entire time and I will be the first to tell you that I have never run steadily for more than a mile in my life so I was very proud of myself. After we got water and Gatorade to ensure that we didn't fallout, we stood around talking to some folks for a good bit which led to the realization that the first mile marker was actually a few minutes off (seriously). After the high-fiving, me telling people "Yeah, me and dad were under nine minutes at the first mile!", shoving our pride down the weak's throats, we actually ended up running a twelve-minute mile (which is not something to be bragging and/or high-fiving about).
Naturally, we left the race and gorged on greasy food at George's all the while maintaining consciousness and keeping it together as if running three miles was an everyday thing.
