One year. And one day.

Yes, hi. Are you aware I get married in one year? From tomorrow?

That's terribly exciting. And also, one year is a long time. Like, extremely long. But also perfectly long enough to whip myself into shape. Since the marathon is likely out (and I would elaborate, but the fact that I curse the day my legs were created and the mere mention of "running" and/or "marathon" and/or "shins" makes my eyes bleed red and hair start on fire, I won't talk about it), I must take a different course of action.

For example, my bike. I shall begin riding it. Seeing as though my perfectly good, brand new road bike (with all the fabulous fixings) has been sitting in the upright position against my wall for over a year, I'd say it's about time. I abandoned it when I began running last year. (And right now the fires of Hell have flared up because I said "running," by the way).

So there's that.

I'm also going to go to the doctor one of these days to get my shins checked out (my eyes, they're bleeding). I'd like to solve the problem, as to avoid ending up in a wheelchair by the time I'm 32. Or 25. Or tomorrow. I fear the problem is stress fractures, and I fear it will be expensive to solve, but whatever. I'm made of money. Or, that's actually so far from the truth it hurts, but whatever. It must be done.

And THEN, I shall do another triathlon in the late summer next year. It'll give me something to do. It'll keep me in shape. It'll require the use of my bike. And, really, triathlons are much easier on my body (and shins) than running a marathon. (And that's how my hair burnt off and I went blind).

But most importantly, as of tomorrow, I need to give something up. I must. Think of it as an extended Lent (and we all know how my attempt to, uh, give up dessert went, but still). I just don't know what to squash. Dessert? Soda? Carbs? Working? OK, ha, I tried.

Do advise.