This past month hasn’t been ideal for my marathon training. I’ve gradually lost interest in running, and lately I’ve been seeking more ways to excuse myself from it rather than enjoy it. The inspirational quotes on Pinterest just aren’t pumping me up like they once did. Yet the 26.2 miles of terror loom over me. And that’s why I did to this marathon what I do to literally every single other aspect of my life: I procrastinated.
And man, it is bliss.
I’ve decided that running in the cold air is much too hard on my lungs. Being cold is also just annoying in general, so I’ll only go out in the heat of the day, about one day a week. Over the winter I managed a to come up with a reason for my infrequent running: over winter break, I had a terrible, life altering accident. My brother threw a football at my head. I tried to hurdle a couch while chasing after him to get him back. My foot jammed into the sofa, and long story short, I ended up with a broken toe.
Did this have any effect on my running, you ask? Not at all. But still, it was a terrific sob story and nobody actually needed to know that I’m still perfectly capable of running. In other words, I’m really freaking lazy.
My dream marathon is the one in New York City, Nov. 1. By that time, I will have just finished my final season of cross country, which I miss terribly for reasons I cannot bring myself to understand, and there’s honestly not a downside to running in the Big Apple. Aside from the fact that it’s a solid 1,200 miles away from me. But, eh, technicalities.
I can’t help but see the major flaw in all of this. When it comes time for the marathon, I’ll chicken out and make up some sad excuse, when in reality I’m just too lazy to run it. That’s why I’ve assigned myself a squad of friends to kick my butt if I do so much as peep a complaint. I got myself into this mess, and they’re helping me get out. They promised to congratulate me with a cute 26.2 bumper sticker tacked on my car ten and a half months from now, of course.
Maybe it’s just for my pride. I want to end this blog by looking back on how I crossed the finish line in Central Park, not how I sat on my bed eating Doritos and procrastinating. I also want to give those people who gave me the pity-clap when I came last place in my cross country races something to think about. Kids who run as fast as tortoises can amount to great things as well.