my first 5k

Well, I ran my first 5K this weekend and my body decided to reward me with a gross cold. There are some really gross things about having a cold, but I think the worst is having to retrieve my used Kleenex from Ike’s mouth. Delicious.


The night before the race I had nightmares. In my dream, the race was taking place in Mexico, and for some reason people were running in shifts. The race officiator would wait until 5 or so people arrived at the race site and give them the “Ready, set, go” command. Then a few minutes later, he would do it all over again.

Fun fact: I am, for some strange reason, terrified of being startled by a loud noise. I was the worst swimmer on my swim team in high school because I stood on the block, squeezing my eyes shut waiting for the airhorn to scare the crap out of me. By the time I had recovered from the loud noise, most of the swimmers were on their flipturn. I’ve also sat through an entire play with my hands in my ears because a sign on the door warned parents that their children might get scared by the gunshots.

Sad story: I can’t be in a room with balloons.

This is how I roll on New Year’s Eve.


Anyway, I had briefly wondered if there would be a loud noise, (worst case scenario: a gun) to start the race, but I pushed the thought out of my head thinking surely I was over my phobia. Apparently I pushed the thought right into my dream. In this weird Mexican race scenario, I was one of the first to arrive but lurked in the shadows until I could find out what was used to start the race. Gun? Airhorn? Balloon popping?
But each time a group of runners started the race, I got distracted and didn’t hear what signaled them to go. By the time I finally got up the courage to just run, a giant severe thunderstorm warning threatened all of Mexico and the race was canceled. Typical Mexico. Drug wars and weather systems the size of an entire country; always ruining 5Ks.

After this dream, as I stood at the starting line of the actual race all I could think about was how to avoid the loud noise. Never mind that I was starving. Never mind that it was 8 am and I am not a morning person, and never mind that I had never run more than 2 miles at a time. This could get embarrassing; I have been known to drop to my knees in the event of a loud noise (Note to self: do not attend air shows anymore). Could I plug my ears, pretending to be cleaning them out as the race started? (Yes, I have used this strategy before. I may look gross, but at least I don’t look crazy. And — bonus! — my ears are spotless.)

I came up with a genius strategy. Turn my iPod on full blast, drown out the actual race noises and just start running when everyone else did. While everyone around me chatted, I turned on shuffle and listened to a Fergie-Ferg classic at full blast.

When the officiator got up to the front and reached in his pocket, my song got to a quiet point. I wasn’t quick enough to change the song, and my heart started pounding as he pulled out his stopwatch and casually yelled, “Okay, GO!”

And you all thought Yoni was the worrier of this relationship…

Wow. That goofy running face is probably one of the many reasons I didn’t pursue this hobby earlier.
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I tend to think of myself as a one man wolfpack

I just realized there is a huge blog community of med school wives. Where was this when I was unemployed, having minor panic attacks and feelings of uselessness when my day consisted of folding towels and Yoni’s day consisted of cutting open skulls to dissect a brain??


Try doing THAT with a bonesaw, big shot med student.


But after reading a few of these blogs, I’ve realized I don’t particularly need to be a part of their community. By some weird coincidence, every one of these blogs is written by someone who is REALLY religious and spends a lot of time praying for their husband and the outcome of his time in prison med school.That’s all well and good, but, you know, not really my thing.

They also summarize their lives as “spending the next four years supporting my husband’s dreams” or “being his personal cheerleader”, which I suppose is true, but is that really how you want to define your life? That sounds so… depressing. I’m sure Yoni knows that I’m his biggest fan, but there are maybe 2 hours a month where I feel like a personal cheerleader. Those are always just following a test, and usually involve a lot of reassuring that No, a B might not be as good as an A but at least it’s better than a C! And remember… D is for doctor and b is for… um… bsurgeon.

Anyway, I bring this up because it turns out that Yoni won’t be running with me; he has a test two days later. Potential migraine + upcoming test is a recipe for disaster, and that’s fine with me. As my fellow personal cheerleaders probably know, doing stuff alone is no big deal. I was an only child; I’ve got years of experience.

Besides, I was secretly hoping he wouldn’t do it. I’ve never run with anyone before, and I’m sure I look like this:


And I am okay with not being made fun of for 3.1 miles straight.

run, dandy, run

I’ve always been a runner. Sort of.

My first race. I’m the one chilling in the stroller.

When I was in the third grade, I won a 3 foot tall trophy for being the fastest kid (girls and boys).

Fast forward to today: I can run for about 3 minutes before I realize all the better things i could be doing with my time.

There are a few reasons for this. First of all, I try to go light on anything that might build muscle in my legs, lest they end up like my dad’s:

No offense dad… those are impressive. Just not on me:)

And second of all… well, that was actually my only good reason. Which is why I’ve decided to get over my fear of ginormoquads and run a 5k.



I haven’t actually signed up yet, but I figure once I tell the whole world/my 27 followers, I’ll have to do it.

My mom had Parkinson’s and I think she would love to know that i was running this race. I also think she would approve of all the purchases that go along with starting to run: new shoes, moisture wicking running gear (I bet she’d love Lululemon). Because let’s face it, that cool running hoodie I’m rocking in the stroller just doesn’t fit anymore.

I’m not going to ask you for money or anything, so here’s what you can do to help: in the comments, convince Y that he should run with me. His excuse for not running is legit — running gives him a migraine. However, here’s what else is legit: the 200+ dollars we just spent on preventive migraine medicine.