Disclaimer: if any Strands folks are reading this (like they have the time and interest to read my little blog) I am THRILLED to be joining you. Cannot wait, in fact. So don't get the wrong idea.
Don't get me wrong - I love these folks for their generosity and willingness to take me, novice runner, on this adventure. But let me tell you why they are out of their f'n minds and why there is a very good chance they will be sorely disappointed in me:
- I looked at the roster for the Team Strands/Puma Cats, the team I'll be running with. There are twelve of us. Nine men, three women. Okay, I can deal with that. I like being one of few women because I am pretty crude and might actually get along better in a van full of testosterone versus one full of estrogen. Men fart, burp and talk about body parts like nobody's business. I'm down with that.
- Everyone with the exception of me and my husband (yes, the fabulous Strands guys found a spot for Ken on the team too!!) was born between 1975 and 1982, making them all 8 to 15 years younger than me (us). No big deal, I can hang with the young 'uns. I like Flor Rida and them apple bottom jeans (no clue what those are, but I sound cool don't I).
- Ken and I are the only two from Colorado - the rest are from Wisconsin, Massachusetts, Oregon. That's fine - I like cheese, Harvard and rainy weather so we'll have something to talk about.
But the true clincher is....these people are fast. And when I say fast, I mean their parents must have mated with gazelles and cheetahs to produce these kind of whippersnappers.
Every single one of my team members (minus Ken, sorry honey) runs between a 30 and 38 minute 10K. Did you hear me??? I did not say 30 minute 5K or even 30 minute 5 miler. I SAID 10K DAMMIT. I don't even know what that works out to: a two minute mile or something. Who does that? Who are these people and why the hell did they choose me to run with them??? Don't they know that I will single handedly destroy any chance they have of winning this thing?
Well, assuming they know what they are doing by choosing me, I have to hand it to them. They obviously are taking the high road. They would rather bring in some old, slow fart from Colorado and experience my presence than win this race. Maybe they're hoping for a boob shot. I will be forever eternally grateful they're taking me. But, I am mother-effing intimidated!!!
Quick - words of wisdom? Reasons I shouldn't be scared? Blogger friends, give it to me. Make me feel better.