At 8:30 tomorrow morning I'll be participating in the Ridgewood Turkey Trot. 8 excruciating kilometers of pure terror.
That's what happens when your parents are freaking fitness Barbie and Ken. So while the rest of America enjoys a leisurely morning being thankful, the entire Johns family will be running our turkeys off.
It is not going to be pretty folks. Basically I'm going to die (not in the Rachel Zoe sense of the word). Typically this is the sort of thing you train for, and to say I'm unprepared would be an understatement. First of all, the only time I ran while I was in Tanzania was to the choo after eating those blasted raw cucumbers ( I knew that was a bad idea...) Since getting back, I have hit the gym twice, and both times the gym hit me. Like a freight train. Second of all, I would like to state that I am not completely opposed to the idea of physical activity on Thanksgiving. A friendly game of flag football would be feasible (as long as I'm not expected to actually catch the ball...) But running an 8k?! Seriously?
At least one thing is for darn sure, I'll be thankful to see that finish line. That is if I survive.
** Update to follow. If you don't see anything on here after a few days check the obituaries.