it was like eating ice, I mean, if my stomach were my lungs

They said it was at least plus 2 degrees outside on that deliciously cold morning, Sunday, March 15, but you know what?

They lied.

Or maybe not. Maybe, technically, it was +2 outside. It sure looked like it was. The sun was out and melting everything it could get its little fingers of heat-ray goodness on, birds were singing, and free boxes of Lucky Charms were being passed out.

I know what you're thinking right about now. Whoa, whoa, whoa you say Where was this free cereal action and why wasn't I in on it?

Well, that's because you were a lazy bastard (or just poor; and for the record, I fall into both of these categories) and you were still in bed by the time I was downtown at 10:05 a.m., hopping in the cold, wrapped in the very thin layers of my running gear and wondering why the hell I was about to kill myself in a 5 kilometre run/walk.

Oh yeah, because I paid $35 to torture myself, because the proceeds go to the Achilles Canada fund which supports disabled athletes to continue to kick ass.

...So yeah, good idea.

Now, for the record, I wasn't planning on actually doing this run until a week prior. And the weeks leading up to that week was spent slothing around: I munched leaves and moved as slowly as possible. With only five days to train, I was sorely dispirited, especially since running 1.5k to train was a bit of an ordeal.

But no more time to ponder about my shabby shape, the day had dawned and I was looking it right in its beady little eyes and shivering.

But that was from the cold, not for fear or anything silly like that.

Overhead, the oddly endearing corniness that our MC was shouting out to us gave way to a countdown, and all around me, huddled or standing tall in their black running tights and slim-fit windbreakers, runners perked up like horses in the gates, all but pawing the asphalt with their Nikes; and I was right there with them. My nervous system was jangling with the sudden adrenaline rush that was charging through my veins, making it feel as if my skin was vibrating. I danced on my toes, the guy beside me hurredly flipped through his playlist on his iPod, another guy rolled his shoulders, the crack of his joints echoing in the still, cold air.

The airhorn blew and we shot off! Immediately, the faster runners peeled and eeled their way through the crowd, dodging the more leisurely pacers and all but sprinting towards their first kilometre. Me? I was disoriented by the amount of people jogging around me, some ahead, some behind, some gaining, some falling back, it was all too much for a solitary runner to take!

I bounced my way through my first kilometre, my gait quickening, then slowing as my competitive feet fought to overtake the slow-pokes, while my rational mind continually chanted "there's 5 kilometres to run, 5!" The sunny day did nothing to melt what felt like crystalline ice in the air, which jabbed my throat with every steady gulp I took to keep myself going. I felt my lungs start that familiar burn, my mucles fighting against the cold to start its own heated throb, and my shoulders begin to tense with the idea of a 5k run. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a sign with clear writing in chalk: 1 K.

Volunteers in lime-green coats yell hoarsly at us as we charged passed, and right then, maybe it was the combination of seeing the first milestone of the run and having someone actually cheer for my ridiculous endeavour, but suddenly it all fell into place. My gain smoothed, the air didn't seem to bite so hard and a smile began to stretch my lips.

I ran that 5 k with no stops (except to tie my shoe, because that would have been dangerous). It took me 29 minutes, but I did it, and it felt ridiculously good when, while chugging my way to the finish, a man with a paper sign stuck on his back reading "blind runner" with a female assistant clearly kicked my ass. Ridiculous.