By the time you read this, I’ll either be proudly wearing my very first Peachtree Road Race T-shirt, or I’ll be lying on the side of the road near death. Or perhaps both.
My desire to run happened slowly, and when I say slowly, I mean years. I’m not a set-a- goal-and-do-it-right-away girl. I’m more of a swear I never will, then decide perhaps I will, and then say I am going to and, eventually. When I get to the point that people laugh at me when I mention it, I get mad and do it. It’s an exhausting process.
Since I’ve had years to contemplate this event, you are probably wondering what I’ve done to prepare. First of all, after New Year’s, I hung up a six-week training schedule in my cube at work.
“How far have you gotten on your training schedule?” a co-worker asked recently.
“What training schedule?”
“Um, that one,” she said, and pointed to the faded piece of paper taped to the wall next to my computer.
“Ooooh, that training schedule,” I said sheepishly, wondering how it was possible that I had not looked to my left in six months.
That’s when I realized I had only crossed off one day – the first day – which said one word, “Stretch.”
“Wow, does that say Oct. 31 on it?” she asked incredulously.