My worst race ever...so bad I would hardly call it a race...

I have a very bad habit of training hard for a particular event and then just completely falling off the wagon after the event is over. In 2007 I trained a good bit for the Memphis Half Marathon, and after it was over, I don't think I actually ran for almost 2 months. In 2008 I really trained - I mean trained with a coach and everything - for the Memphis Half Marathon, and after it was over, I thought I was doing well. Granted, I didn't run between December 6th and January 1st...but I was pretty steady about running at least twice a week during the winter and spring. I trained again for the Youth Villages 5k in April, and my training paid off with a personal record of sub-11-minute miles. After April, I pretty much stopped exercising all together : ( I blame it on late nights at work, getting a car, and I think some bad weather on the weekends. Really, I should just blame myself for not having the internal motivation to keep going! So, last Saturday, Becky and I decided to run the Gibson 5k. We were trying to be supportive of a friend who didn't actually end up running it with us, and it was 90 degrees outside, and poor Becky had been without power for 24 hours, and I had just been a lazy mess for the past two months, and again we both had a significant lack of internal motivation. As my title should guide you, it was the worst race I have ever participated in. We ran the first mile, and then I had to stop. My mouth was dry, my heart was pumping, and my head felt like it was about to explode. I think if I had looked at myself in the mirror, my face would have been a similar shade to a radish. For the next mile, I kept wondering where the water station would be (this from the girl that has normally scoffed at water stations in 5ks! I mean, it's just three miles! Why would you need water half way through three miles). Oh, but I needed water, badly. I also drank the entire cup of water once we got to the aid station - I would have taken five if they had let me! Becky and I talked about our lack of motivation, reminisced about our other more successful races, our first 5k, our drinking habits while in Europe, and paid almost no attention to how long the race was taking us. Then within 0.1 miles two horrific things happened. At mile 3, the volunteer timer just happened to be an MRTC member who has been very condescending to us in the past, and to whom we have tried to show we are 'real' runners. But no, this time she was shouting out "48:10, 48:11," as we passed her at the three mile mark. I made the mistake of making eye contact, so she smiled back at me with gut wrenching familiarity! Then, as we rounded the last corner to finish the darn thing, there is a man with a camera at the finish line. I hate finish line pictures for two reasons: 1) I always look like a developmentally delayed velociraptor, and 2) the pictures go online for ALL the world...well running world at least...to see. Uggh! Thank goodness for free sno cones at the finish line!