So on Sunday March 16, Mike and I ran a half marathon. Yes, that's right, we both ran it! My weightlifting preferring, super strong husband decided that he would run a half marathon and I said I would do it with him.
Me, well, I didn't train very much (turns out that's pretty much my MO), but I still finished at 2:22 something. Not my best time, not my worst time, and I hurt like a mofo the next few days but I fully expected that. I knew I wasn't going to win the thing, But I also knew I wasn't going to be in last place either, and hell, this one makes number 7 for me. SEVEN! Sometimes even I have a hard time believing I've done that many. I keep saying I'm going to do another marathon, but finding the time to train (for real) is difficult with the full time job and grad school. Maybe one day. Meh, we'll see.
But because that race was my 7th, I was much more excited for Mike's race and experience than my own. I knew he would finish before and that I wasn't going to match his pace, but I knew he would finish and I couldn't wait to see him at the finish line. His time was 1:49: something and I'm pleased as punch for him!
Yay running!
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