Some days, or weeks, life seems to work against fitness ambition. The second week of November epitomized that week for me. I decided to run my second-ever 5K, and was hoping for perfect preparation. Instead, here’s what I got, blow-by-blow, with no ugly details spared:

• Forgot to bring dinner to work, so had to buy on-site meal that tasted a little funky. Became close acquaintance of toilet most of the following day.
•  Night before the race, reluctantly went to dinner with friends. Still skeptical of prepared food after very recent recovery from flushfest. Ordered chicken salad, got a beautifully prepared dinner plate, stuck my fork in the salad, and found a ginormous human hairball in the middle. Chicken, mayonnaise, and hair. Enough said.
• Went home to get some rest before race (and try to get hairball image out of my head), choked on a gulp of water, ran to the sink to spit it out, and rammed my forehead into the stainless steel faucet. Small goose egg, big headache.
• Bedtime routine seemed like a safe haven. Took long, warm shower to wash away the food poisoning, hairball, and possible concussion. Stepped out of shower onto plush rug and a sizable shard of porcelain from a broken nicknack. Pain, blood, and defeat. I’d cut the bottom of my foot less than 12 hours pre-race! 

Luckily, after some careful washing and Band-Aiding, the week’s drama was over, and I went to sleep. And, shockingly, I didn’t fall out of bed or trip over a dog in the middle of the night. Perhaps this week backs up the no pain, no gain theory– I ran a more than three-minute personal best, which required powering (and wheezing) through the race at a pace I never imagined running. I do hope the next pre-5k week is at least hairball-free though. I’d sacrifice a few seconds of gain to be spared that pain.