This doesn't belong at TPM, I'll tell you that right now. But the pixels are free, and the space is there, and it seems if not the place, than a place to write it.

The background has to start with uncomfortable statements. Most background does, when it comes down to it. But okay. About eight weeks ago, I made a small decision. I don't mind telling that it's been a bad year. Bad marriage, twin babies running me ragged and the lack of sleep. I've been fundamentally unemployed for about a year, though for five months  I had a job with a company that didn't work out. I work in real estate, so there's a clue. I've been walking a razor's edge for so long that I can't remember what it's like not to be on the edge.

Anyway, i made a decision. I was going to run a 5K. I picked one and started to train.

Now, to be clear, I'm not a runner. Never have been. I've been overweight most of my life. Really overweight, like 130 or more pounds. About two years ago I lost a lot of it, then I gained about half back. I am proud I kept off what I did, but even so ... But I started to train. Found someone to help me, and four nights a week i worked on the treadmill, trying to build up the amount of distance I could run. About two weeks ago I realized I wasn't going to be about to get to a point of running the whole race, but I set a goal for a time. i sweated like crazy down in my basement every night, because the only real time I had to workout was after everyone went to bed. So that's when I did it.

The race was today. I went to the site and felt about as out of place as you could feel. I outweighed anyone else there by a solid 60 pounds, at least. I was in a T shirt and sweat pants and all these svelte people -- like a thousand of them -- were in their tights and loose fitting shorts and areodynamic shirts, all of them stretching. I got there way too early, so for 90 minutes or so, I watched everyone else, feeling more insecure by the moment. I'm overly concious of my weight, and while no one did anything, I felt like i didn't belong there. I looked at the crowd and thought there is no way I'm goign to outrun anyone here, that I'm going to come in dead fucking last and thins thing I've wroekd for  -- this goal i've set -- is going to be a total defeat. This was not a scene for me. I felt like I was in junior high with the girls at the other table giggling. I thought about leaving. I found myself jittery, nervously twitching and then trying to convince myself that it woule be all right. But I actually stood up to leave, and then told myself I wasn't going to. I didn't.

The race started. I ran some, walked more. It was a lot harder than on the treadmill. I couldn't run nearly as much as I thought it would -- Boulder is a very hilly city, it turns out -- but I kept going. And I finished. Slowly, but not DFL. (in case you're wondering, 43:20. about a minute and a half slower than I aimed for) I managed to run acorss the finish line.

Like I said, it's been a bad year. But this felt good. it doesn't change anything about anything, but I finished the race. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday morning.