I hate running.

I mean it. I hate it, hate it, hate it. And I cannot, for the life of me, work out why I do it. This has been an off-and-on hobby of mine since I was 12, for crying out loud! And yet I hate it.

When I rounded the corner leading to my "home stretch" on Saturday morning, I also hit the beginning of a walking minute. There was quite a queue of cars lined up at the stop sign, and I was very thankful that none of them could see that my stopwatch read "32:00". To stop and walk at that juncture is a bit embarassing.

Turns out I am going on a Bible bowl trip after all!