Not to be confused with the Susan G. Koman Race for the Cure because … well, there was way less racing and way more schlepping, among other things.
But here’s the story:
We were supposed to go to Miami to do the Komen run this weekend, and then … well, shit happened. Like, I quit my job and suddenly felt I should maybe get a bit more cautious with spending money on things like hotels on South Beach and …. oh, maybe drinking and debauchery and such that would likely go along with the being on South Beach with a pack of women called Mini’s Rack Pack. So I didn’t make the reservation. Then things came together a bit more, but part of that coming together put me in Vegas up until early Thursday morning. We just didn’t have it in us to head back to Miami today. So we decided, me and my wonderful hubby, let’s just do our own 5K today. Doesn’t really matter where we do it, right? I raised the money, so we’ll put in the miles.
I have to add here, it was Barry’s idea to go do it on the beach. Me, I’d have probably felt OK with the treadmill, or maybe around the neighborhood. But Barry’s such a freaking overachiever. He says, let’s map out 1.6 miles from the Cocoa Beach pier, and just do the round trip. We can have lunch at the pier when we’re done.
So optimistic, that one.
To be fair, it was me, all bright-eyed and annoyingly awake who dragged Barry out of bed at 9 this morning. “Let’s go do a 5K!” I would have smacked me. I still might. But he’s so damn tolerant – it’s what’s kept our marriage successful for 5 whole months today! No one else in the world would put up with my shit. But I digress.
One messy Chick-Fil-A incident and 40 minutes later, we’re parked at the pier and ready to go. I get about three feet in the sand and start thinking, ‘crap. how did I let myself get talked into this?’ Sand being, you know, way more difficult to walk in than say my nice even treadmill track. But I thought of Eve’s boobies and kept going. I daresay that same thought has kept better men than me going.
I won’t bore you with the details of the 3.1 mile schlep through the sand. Because really, they involve a lot of thoughts I’m not so proud of about every child, fisherman or pathetic wannabe surfer who got in my path. It proved to me how horribly out of shape I am and how badly I need to actually USE my treadmill every now and then.
Regardless of my bitching, though, I’m proud to have done this for Eve, who is working through her chemo and fighting her crappy cancer and putting up with a lot more than I am, with a lot less bitching.
And thanks to everyone who donated, Mini’s Rack Pack was the top fundraising team in the Miami race, with $11,676.50 donated to help find a cure for this damn thing already. To all the peeps who did the race today, either in Miami or on their own somewhere else (there were a few of us who committed to walking/running/slogging/schlepping 5K today, no matter where), you kick ass!