I find long distance running somewhat a masochistic activity. The process of it feels like running your nails down a chalkboard, or grinding your teeth on pavement (never tried it please tell me how it is). It is something utterly painful, the process seemingly never-ending. So I never thought of entering any sort of race. I hate exercise and would categorize myself as “inactive”. Why would I then, inflict myself to enter a race if I am not an athlete, and I dare say, not a masochist?
But for some reason, I entered a race with Bill and Kelvin. An excruciating 10km to be held at some scenic yet remote golf course. The minute I submitted the application, the feeling of doom and regret flooded towards me at full force. How was I going to survive this race? What in the world could possibly motivate me to drag myself out of bed 5 in the morning and run in the cold and rain?