The crowd at the event was first-class all the way. I have never heard so many cow bells at one time. Life needs more cow bell. The audience was polite, wildly supportive, and extremely tidy. It made me proud to be a Chicagoan.
|I fought the urge to yell "Run, Forrest" all day.|
As I was feeling all disappointed about my lumpy, middle-aged body, my husband reminded me how happy I was when I took up running a couple of years ago. Back then, we even decided to run the Shamrock Shuffle 8K together. Little did I know that race day would correspond with a horrible, late-season ice and snow storm. Still, the pride we felt after completing our frosty little run was immeasurable. This was the point my husband tried making Sunday night:
Joe: You completed an 8K! That's nothing to sneeze at.
Me: But they gave you beer at the end. There was an incentive.
Joe: True. But why don't you think about running again? You loved it.
Me: I am so out of shape now. You're calling me fat, aren't you?
Joe: No, I'm calling you grumpy.
Me: I know you are, but what am I?
Joe: C'mon. I'll buy you a beer if you do it.
Me: Start running again?
Me: Make it an appletini and you have a deal.
So I think I'm ready to start trotting around Beverly again at an amazing 11.2 minute mile pace while dazzling everyone with my gazelle-like grace and superhuman speed.
They're all going to laugh at me.
But perhaps not as much as this guy:
|I wonder if he already has locked in a running buddy?|