To the victor goes the candy corn

Remember how, oh, about three months ago, I got all dewy and touched by the holy light of health and vowed to run a 5K to show off my super new bod and athletic prowess and also my righteous willpower? And remember how I continued to eat chocolate and pizza with a blind eye to my training, and jiggled in unsightly places as I first wogged, then jogged, then ran around my little tree-lined neighborhood in a way that would have made anyone with sense think Renee should stop foundering herself on Cadbury flakes and really up the brown rice, or something! And remember how I only got back around to running and eating right after spending a week in the hospital, eating bags of mini M&Ms and those teeny tiny little Almond Joys that seem to be made for cradling tenderly on your tongue? Remember how that didn't bode well for me and my race?

Well, I did it anyway! I finished the 5K! And you'll have to pardon my strutting, because I am feeling pretty damn Queen of the World right now, my friends. If I had a boat I'd hang off the end of it (actually, that just might be my stomach).

I finished in 33:19, which I'm thrilled with for a first race, and I didn't have to walk a step. It was a marvelous day for a run - 50 degrees and cloudy, with a breeze coming off the river - and the course was very flat, which helped. Now that I know this is really something I can do I'm all psyched up for my 8K in November. Or at least I will be, as soon as I finish this handful of candy corn...