I lived to tell you about it

You can mark my first 5-mile run down in the history books. As in, I completed it.

After semi-slacking all week, I knew I couldn't skip out on my long run this weekend. But I knew I wouldn't be in any kind of running mood to do it today, so I rolled out of bed early Saturday to pound the pavement. I already knew where I needed to go. It was just a matter of lacing up the sneakers and heading out.

It was early Saturday morning, so there wasn't a whole lot of traffic to worry about and it was still pretty tolerable outside, although a bit sunny. When I left my apartment, the Weather Channel said it was 64 degrees out. When I got back, it was still sunny, but the mercury in the thermometer had jumped to 76, and considering I was dripping in sweat, I believed it.

But anyway, the run...

Mile 1, not so bad. It's a mile I've covered countless times. Mile 2 was a new neighborhood, an area where I don't normally drive and haven't ran in before, so it was kind of nice to see some new scenery. I started the loop back towards home on Miles 3 and 4, taking a nice shady loop around a lake road neighborhood.

But Mile 5?

The last one. That was brutal. I swear, I was running so slow it felt like I was barely moving my feet! And by this point, I was starting to get tired. I've done 4 miles, heck I've even done 4.5 miles. But that last half-mile, when I could see my street sign in the distance, that was nasty.

I stuck it out though. I refused to stop running and walk, even for a few feet. So I ran the entire 5 miles. It took me 58 minutes, about an 11:15 minute mile, which honestly, if I could maintain that kind of pace for the half-marathon, I would be OK.

The big news though, I logged my first 5-mile run. And I didn't die. Which is always a good thing.