driving my car and suddenly remembering i'm holding the wheel and i'm not merely a sightseeing passenger.
i spend a lot of time not really paying attention to what i'm doing and then thinking: hm. now i, a smoker who hasn't run in three weeks and only did once that week and had only run two weeks prior to that ... once ... am going to run 13ish miles in a few scant weeks. this sounds like fallen arches, wheezing, pulled butt muscles waiting to happen. but really, there are few things i won't do for a t'shirt.
i could have done the 5k, but the 5k is for weak willed, adventureless people lacking imagination and delusions of grandeur. i could have done the marathon, but how many times do i have to run 26.2 miles without training to prove to you people that my mind is far more advanced, sturdy, stubborn and competitive than my matter?
i've written extensively about running twin cities marathon. briefly: whim. no training. ran. ran ran ran. made friend with another limper. thoroughly dehydrated myself to the point where bathroom breaks provided merely a trickle of relief. amputees busted past me. began walking. senior citizens heckled me. began running. decided to finish, threw my sweatshirt and cell phone to ma and pa pista on the sidelines. somewhere on summit avenue i began weeping. six miles to go. paddy wagon hot on my heals. horror movie.
sixth to last place. only the XXL t'shirts remaining. no fruit.
cried at the base of the steps to my apartment.
couldn't walk for two days.
ate everything in my apartment that didn't have a heartbeat.
slept in xxl t'shirt.