Oh Crap!
Oh Crap. Oh Crap. Oh Crap.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I am going to run a marathon in a little over a week! OMG.
Seriously, what the hell was I thinking? It didn't quite set in until tonight when I picked up my singlet and race packet. OMG.
'Cause see, here's the thing: I'm a total sucker for movies like Rudy and any movie with William H. Macy like Door to Door, that movie about the Watkins salesman. They choke me up. The underdog overcomes all obstacles and tells people to basically kiss their ass. I get all misty eyed, and my throat closes up. That's what happened with this marathon. They show me pictures of these kids crying as they watch people crossing the finish line for them with this crescendoed music in the background, and I become butter, reaching into my pocket for my checkbook and slicing my arm open to sign my name on the dotted line in blood.
That was May. In May, the marathon seemed like something I was gonna do, maybe.
In September, when I resigned my commitment form, it still seemed like something I was gonna do--in the future--someday--one day--yeah.
Even a few days ago, I was still thinking of it like aging: One day my hair will turn gray, and my face will shrivel, and probably, my boobs will sag (oh, I hope not), and oh yeah, I'll run a marathon. You know? ONE DAY! Not in a WEEK!
Then I left the pre race party for the first bar I could find and drank really pricey wine, and as I stared into the ruby elixir, I realized that I don't actually want to run the marathon. I just want to train for the marathon half assed, eat my carbs, and talk about one day running one. OMG.
Oh crap!
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I am going to run a marathon in a little over a week! OMG.
Seriously, what the hell was I thinking? It didn't quite set in until tonight when I picked up my singlet and race packet. OMG.
'Cause see, here's the thing: I'm a total sucker for movies like Rudy and any movie with William H. Macy like Door to Door, that movie about the Watkins salesman. They choke me up. The underdog overcomes all obstacles and tells people to basically kiss their ass. I get all misty eyed, and my throat closes up. That's what happened with this marathon. They show me pictures of these kids crying as they watch people crossing the finish line for them with this crescendoed music in the background, and I become butter, reaching into my pocket for my checkbook and slicing my arm open to sign my name on the dotted line in blood.
That was May. In May, the marathon seemed like something I was gonna do, maybe.
In September, when I resigned my commitment form, it still seemed like something I was gonna do--in the future--someday--one day--yeah.
Even a few days ago, I was still thinking of it like aging: One day my hair will turn gray, and my face will shrivel, and probably, my boobs will sag (oh, I hope not), and oh yeah, I'll run a marathon. You know? ONE DAY! Not in a WEEK!
Then I left the pre race party for the first bar I could find and drank really pricey wine, and as I stared into the ruby elixir, I realized that I don't actually want to run the marathon. I just want to train for the marathon half assed, eat my carbs, and talk about one day running one. OMG.
Oh crap!
posted by Cranky at 10:47 PM
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