Ironic

I've been particularly proud of myself - I signed up for the JP Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge, a 5k run in Central Park. Seasoned runners will naturally pshaw at my creating such a palaver over just 5k, but this is the first time I've entered into an official run - I do have the right, don't I?

I've been doing little practice jogs on the treadmill in my gym, and I figure, if I can run 5k on a machine, through the din of my ipod + gym music + gym TVs, watching myself in horror on the mirrored walls, surreptitiously checking out the other joggers in envy, then I can definitely pull it off in the relative freshness of Central Park. Right?

But I've been setting stringent expectations with my colleagues: "Will probably end up walking the whole thing, heh heh," I kept saying. The strategy being they'd be blown away when I coolly jogged (maybe even with a dramatic sprint for the final bit!) the entire race. Fool proof strategy. Right?

This is how I establish my self-proclaimed heroism.

So, today is D-day. And what happens? I wake up in the morning with a terrible cold, coughing and spluttering about, feeling like the living dead. A firm dose of cough syrup, and I'm moonwalking about the office. Energy and adrenaline are just wishful pipedreams.

Dammit. Now I AM going to have to walk through the entire bloody race. And my colleagues will never know that I could have jogged it, any other day. Dammit. I will forever remain the undiscovered hero.