I sat down the other night to read the two latest issues of Runner's World that have been sitting in a pile for two months. Notice I said, "read ... Runner's World," and not actually, "Last night I went for a run because I'm so dedicated to my fitness that I can think of no better way to spend my time. I love running. Go, running!"
No, I didn't say that. Because I've gone lazy. Absolutely, unbelievably, my-body-has-turned-to-fluff lazy. Remember once when I had muscle? Toned legs? (And shin splints, blistered toes...) Well, not so much anymore. I'd take shin splints over noodle legs any day. But alas, here I am, noodle-y.
But while reading Runner's World, I became inspired. It was like a Hallelujah Moment, only, no angels sang and I didn't really move at all from the couch. And I don't even think I said, "Hallelujah," but whatever. It was a moment.
I read an article about some character who has run every day for twenty-some odd years. Every day. Cousin Twice-ish Removed is closing in on 700 straight days of running. What's with all this running, and why is MY only streak, like, 148 straight days of NO running? It must be stopped.
The article stated that you can only become an official "streaker" if you run at least one mile every day for one full year. I felt inspired. Could I do it? Do I WANT to? Eh. Perhaps. I want to get off my lazy ass and DO something, so I'll consider it for my New Year's Resolution. I also intend to participate in some triathlons next summer. Triathlons, plural.
Besides, I must be in tip-top shape for this, uh, wedding I'm participating in next August. I hear I'm the bride.