I've decided that I'm having a mid-life crisis. Three weeks ago I decided that running a marathon was a reasonable idea. There's just one problem (well, there are quite a few more than one but this is the least complicated to admit) with the idea of challenging my body with a 26+ mile run-- I'm not much of a runner.
The funny thing is in my head I define myself as a runner. There's no good reason for this since I haven't run consistently in about nine years and even when I was running (well, jogging) regularly, I was turtle-slow. More than a ten-minute mile slow (actually closer to 11 min.). Maybe I think of myself as a runner because I admire their determination and drive. Let's face it-- it takes a lot of discipline to get out there and train. I suppose that "runner's high" endorphin rush makes it worthwhile, but I never reached that point. My legs would tire or my stomach would cramp long before reaching that Nirvanic state. Add to this lack of running prowess that I am now 43. That seems rather late to decide that I want to become a marathoner. Usually I can talk myself out of these far-fetched illogical ideas. I mean really, I'm not some impulsive teenager. I don't need to impress anyone. I just have this urge that formulated itself into a plan to run a marathon, the Philadelphia marathon this November.
Since I can't shake this idea, I've decided I'd better start training. In three weeks time (since coming up with this plan) I've managed to walk/jog a total of about 27 miles. I'm good for about 2 at a time. What am I thinking? I must be nuts.
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