Twelve weeks? Whoops.

At work today I was discussing marathon training with a coworker. Of course I was bitching because, as usual, I've fallen off the training wagon. I get on a roll and then BOOM. I decide that running is for losers, apparently. I told her I needed to follow a training plan. Something that can dictate exactly how far I have to run each day. I haven't followed a training plan in a long time. For my past few marathons I've just sort of been winging it. Clearly this time around I need some motivation seeing as though I've run exactly one time in a week.

So she and I are going back and forth with different training plans that we know of and I suddenly realize my marathon is in TWELVE WEEKS.

TWELVE?

Oh, for the love of God.

Twelve seems so few, especially for a person who's run no further than 10 miles at a time since mid-May. Total training fail, Krista. Although my training was total crap for my last marathon, and I did just fine.

So here I am, again, vowing to get off my ass and get back into gear. Officially, Um, tomorrow.