Gimp.

Last Friday I ran a 5k. I decided to do this Thursday afternoon, under the pressure of Anne Kvinge and the lure of a free latte from the Java House.

Friday afternoon I found myself standing outside wearing once of those racing numbers, with a computer chip tagged to my shoe (as though I were actually in competition for first place), and my legs screaming "Why are you stretching us? What are you planning to do?!" Obviously, I did not die. I thought I might, though. Around mile two, my legs started loosening up for real, and I remembered why I liked running back in the day. Afterwards I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, but it still felt pretty good and I do enjoy the freebies that come with races: t-shirts, bananas, and coupons for things you'll never use.

Sunday night rolled around, and I went to play in my intramural volleyball game. I played volleyball in high school, and as the game progressed I started caring more and more. It is a bit pathetic, sure, but I was yelling and running; I actually broke a sweat playing an intramural. WTF, mate? Near the end of the game, I decided it would be a great idea to dive for a loose ball (thanks, Nic) and proceeded to give myself a floor burn on my ankle and jam my big toe.

Please, do not dismiss this injury or call me dramatic. My big toe is now a colossal toe, is a wonderful shade of purple, and hurts to bend (which causes me to limp). All for an intramural game. Great work, champ.

I was downright active this weekend, which leads me to my lesson of the weekend: I need to be more active. I am 22 years old and I still get slightly winded on my tours when we climb to the top of the Pentacrest. Not cool.

So here's to being more active. Or at least attempting. I'll cheers to that (water, of course).