Thigh Fire

So, recently I participated in my first 5k walk - pant - run, note the emphasis on the walk - pant part.

It was quite the eye opener for this previously sedentary gal, who has made a bit of a career (who am I kidding, I have no career) out of mocking those that participated in this malarkey.

Yep, I thought of myself as a wee bit superior lying splayed out on my gorgeous cream colored sectional eating bonbons and gulping fabulous wine. But all that crap came to a screeching halt a few weeks back when the guys in white coats came in, shaking their heads in unison, all thinking the same thing, "This one's gotta go".

They hauled me off my sofa, removed the bag of frozen Cameo's from my clasped fists, ignored my whimpering and whispered soft little meaningless taunts in my ear, "Stop it, stop it right now," they demanded. "Whoa, hey, wait just a fancy minute, I thought to myself, can't we all just spend some time getting to know each other? Why do we have to rush into all this diet and exercise?" And here I thought we were going to build a meaningful relationship.

But no, that was not meant to be, as evidenced by the nurse lady that actually had the nerve to give me a little tip, "Hun, why don't you look at it this way, if you put the bag of Cheetos down, while we get your weight, you may be pleasantly surprised." Surprised, how could she even think for a single minute that I'd want to friends with her, let alone that she could surprise me?

Friends, and I'm talking my good friends, they know how to treat me. My good friends ask me, "Puffed or crunchy, luv?" This new group, all they are interested in was, "Getting the blood pumping".

Well trust me, my blood was pumping that recent Saturday morning as I raced, begged and pleaded with myself to get to the finish line. The race had just started and already my faithless husband and daughter had gotten far ahead of me. I thought about just dashing into the nearest Panera and grabbing a quick cinnamon bun for moral support, or maybe if luck was on my side, I'd pass a gun store first. Maybe I'd pick up one of those ladylike guns and shoot them both for dumping me, right across their big white numbered T-shirt! That is, if I ever saw them again. I knew the odds were I might not survive all this ridiculous sweating.

Did the guys in the white coats really think I was healthy enough for all this activity? I should have demanded that they have put it in writing, "Loud, obnoxious, healthy female, most recently seen eating frozen Cameo cookies, has our permission to kill herself publicly in said 5K race." At least than my duplicitous family could sue their collective asses!

But truly, I am not a quitter. No sir, not a quitter this one. But a cheater? Why you betcha!

That is why I had the fight of my life on my hands when I was trotting down one stretch of the race and glanced to my far right and saw that the rest of the participants had made a right turn way up ahead and were coming back down towards me about two blocks over.

How simple it would have been to just take a cut through? I could get a lead on my traitorous husband and daughter and cross the finish line like a real athlete, you know, Rockyesque, style! I could almost hear the crowds cheering me on in my head. But then I told myself, "Self, how are you gonna feel if you cut corners and cheat in your very first 5K?" Self quickly assured me, that she'd feel just fine, remarkable actually!

But alas, it was not to be. First, I had that stupid white shirt on with the four big numbers plastered across the front and secondly, I had those four big numbers plastered across the front- yea, you get it. I'd cheat, but I didn't want to get caught cheating! I had standards.

Fortunately, cooler, less felonious heads prevailed and I trotted on. I'd spied one particularly big ass ahead of me and I thought, if she can do it, so can I. I began setting my sights on all the large backsides in front of me and decided my personal goal would be to pick out the biggest ass within eyesight and stride to reach and pass it. My new job was to beat all the other fatties to the finish line.

This worked fine, up until the point I had to use the balance of my water to put out the fire that had started between one guy's enormous thighs.

But in the end, I finished the race. I didn't come in first, not by a long shot. But I did get there just as the race coordinators where dismantling the finish line. I guess they hadn't heard about the fire...