I'M A DUMBASS . . .

So here I was, all running two breezy 10.5-minute miles on my treadmill at a slight incline, thinking I was hot sh*t. "Central Park ain't got nuthin' on me," I'm thinking. As long as I get up early enough on Sunday to digest a bottle of Gatorade and a banana, I should be fine for the Komen 5K Race for the Cure, right? RIGHT.

This evening, the warm sunshine and the cool breeze inspired me to take my hot sh*t self outside to hit the pavement instead of the nice, springy, welcoming board of the treadmill. I took two bites of a strawberries n' cream Balance Bar (not bad in a smooth, slimy and slightly gross way), washed it down with a mouthful of water, stretched, cued up the music on my latest gift, Herb the iPod, and walked out smiling into the evening sun. "SURELY, I can handle the out of doors," I was thinking. RIGHT.

I managed to run without stopping all the way up the big hill in front of my house, and halfway onto the flat bisecting road. But by then, I was more than ready to wimp out. Not even the thought of DYC blowing by me or the vision of C's big mouth screaming at me to keep going could make me, well, keep going. My lungs were burning, and damn it, the road was uneven!!! Who DID that?! My allergies kicked in so I was dribbling out of my nose. My latent asthma piped up so I was wheezing out of my mouth. I had an assortment of little bugs and dust mites and tree pollen stuck to my contacts so I was tearing out of my eyes. And it was COLD! Seriously -- was this really me?!

I slowed down until I could mostly compose myself and try to get over the completely self-destructive 10 minutes I had just lived through. My only solace was the thought: "MAYBE Central Park isn't this . . . HILLY." Or "MAYBE the people around me on Sunday will be running REALLY slow, and it would just be rude of me to try to run faster than them." Or "MAYBE C and DYC and Banana will run REALLY slow too and will get tired and will want to walk most of it." Yeah. MAYBE.

Anyway, after some recovery time, I was feeling better. Or I was in denial. Or I was too embarrassed at myself to accept the truth, and was willing to risk injury by running anyway. Or the damn Balance Bar finally kicked in. Whatever it was, after about 10 minutes of walking, I managed to run all the way home and limp into the garage. I came THIS CLOSE to laying my head on Mom's lap and whining. Instead, I just hocked some loogies into the toilet.

My left knee -- the most injured and tormented one -- is screaming its silent protest continuously. Every time I breathe -- even now, four hours later -- I can feel rattling in my lungs. Every time I cough, my lungs and throat ache and I can taste that nasty salty mucous. My back, though feeling stronger, KILLS. And my poor wimpy weak ankles. They're going to need years of psychotherapy to get over this evening's run and the bad, bad things I did to them.

But the worst part is, I am completely demoralized. I SUCK! When did this happen? In the not-too-distant-past words of someone I know: "I NEVER COME IN LAST!" I could potentially come in last. For a 5K walk/run!!! Oh, woe is me . . . I should just run with a bag over my head. BIG. HEAVY. SIGH.