On Monday, I had the bright idea to sign up for the Fargo Marathon. I checked it with Erma (who is four, and therefore will say yes to anything she does not comprehend except foreign vegetables). Marathon, right? How hard could it be?
Yes, I’m a tad out of shape. That is a GREAT reason to run a marathon. Better than the 30-day slash, which I just ordered from a website the size of a rainforest.
Yes, the marathon is next week. If a fast approaching deadline is not motivation, I don’t know what is.
Yes, my daughter is addicted to her dad and wants nothing to do with me almost 100% of the time. I figure a little quality marathon time with her mother will fix everything right up.
On Monday, Erma and I started our training regimen. We ran all the way to the garbage can. That’s at least six houses, maybe seven. We ran almost all the way back. I collapsed in the grass and thought about the symptoms of a heart attack and if I was having one or not.
Tuesday, it was raining. Instead of running outside, we went down to the basement. We ran around the basement twenty times (the way that Erma counts) or seven times (the way that I count). My sides were hurting something fierce, so afterward we took a break to engage in more sedentary activities such as TV watching, block building, and dessert eating.
Today. Day off from training. We’ve got until next Thursday before it’s showtime, and frankly, I had just eaten a bowl of ice cream before coming home from work.
Starting to lose the momentum for this whole running thing. Also, wondering about marathon attire. Like…can I wear sweat pants? I am wearing sweat pants right now, because of the fullness from the ice cream. They are purple. (The sweat pants. Not the ice cream. It was green.)
There is no refund for cancelling out of the race. So we move forward and hope that the race does not kill us, but only makes us stronger. Or at least doesn’t kill us.