I really wish someone would just give Mark and I 5 g’s. Since that’s not going to happen, I did the closest thing I’ll come any time soon to gittin’ 5K. I signed up for a 5K. The Ravenswood 5K, to be exact. Proceeds benefit our ‘hood food pantry and schools.
In an effort to run off stress, rather than guzzle wine and watch Netflix, I've signed up for the Ravenswod 5K.
I started training a few days ago and signed up for the 5K yesterday. Today, Tuesday, I found out that my university temp job won’t last until June, like I was initially told. Try April. If I’m lucky. I like the gig, and I’d hoped more than anything would turn into a permanent position, like it had for the girl who held it before me. I thought a job at a university-affiliated hospital would be recession proof. One month and they offered it to her, with benefits. Well, that was six months ago. Since then, the stock market has plunged and with it the university’s endowments. My position is on the chopping block. I took the news a lot better than I took getting fired at the grocery store on New Year’s Eve, though. No angrily shoving anything onto shelves. No teary walk home.
Instead, I had a great conversation with my boss. That was weird. Because she’d fired me in a round about way. But she’s a sympathetic person who cares, which makes me lucky. She’s sending my resume around, encouraging me to contact the temp agency, and even making calls to a “real” job at the university I applied to last week. The thought of not working, even for a week, still terrifies me.
On the train home, every time I closed my eyes and all I could see was my couch, a bottle of red wine and our carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream. I remembered the 5K. The Hal Higdon “intermediate” (hahahahha) training program I’d printed out on my work printer. And the 30 precious dollars I’d paid to the organizers. I somehow fought off the wine and ice cream craving and hit the streets. 5K richer. Sort of.
