Yesterday, I headed downtown St. Paul to participate in the "Frozen Half Marathon," which was true to its name, as it was
frigid -- the windchill was -1. In addition to the inclement conditions, I faced another barrier, in that I'm not really in shape for this kind of running. I've only run once in the last three weeks, and my last run of more than four miles (a leisurely ten-mile tour of the lakes with inspiring pal, Sheila, who finished 2nd in this race) was about five weeks ago. Any sane person in my situation would have bowed out, but not me. I like to finish what I sign up for, dammit.

The first ten miles were nice -- fun, even. I maintained a solid nine-minute pace, and then predictably, pretty much exactly at the ten mile mark, I fell apart. I urged myself minute-by-minute toward the finish line, and ended up posting a 2:02, a mere 32-minutes behind Sheila.

Despite the discomfort, I'm really happy I did it. Even the relatively acute gastrointestinal distress I experienced as a result of my effort was more-or-less worth it. I needed a kick-start in my training, and I think this has done the trick.