Do you ever get really excited about something and are all gung-ho for it and commit yourself only to later regret it?
Well. This is a bad habit of mine. A *really* bad habit. I suspect I inherited this endearing trait from my dear Daddy, whose various projects over the years include weaving straw stools, making tortillas and pizza all from scratch and raising chickens.
My projects tend to involve overzealous hostessing feats:
Sure, I’d love to make a 5 foot diaper cake for a random co-worker!
I’d be happy to help you throw a party for your cousin’s nephew’s girlfriend that I’ve never met. I’ll do all the cooking!
Or, Hey Somanna, let’s slap 12 different samples of paint on the wall and then not choose a color or paint for three months!
What can I say? I suffer from PMS = Pretending to be Martha Stewart.
But friends, I have gone and done it now. No, I don’t have chickens nor a final paint choice. See, back in December, with euphoric holiday optimism rendering me semi-drunk, I made a list of goals for the year. And one of those foolish goals was to run a half marathon. A goal that looks noble and ambitious on paper.
In fact, I bet you are somewhat impressed that I chose this goal. If we were to have this conversation in person, I would modestly tell you that I chose this goal because I thought it would be FUN and REWARDING, (two words that if paired in the same sentence, should alone stand as a warning) to complete 13 MILES of heavy gasping breathing. That I want to CHALLENGE myself. Not because my competitive Ego secretly yearns for bragging rights or anything.
So I signed up for a half marathon.
And I paid $85 bucks for it. You know, to really commit myself.
My lungs and legs have never hated my Ego more. And they can assure you and my stupid Ego, that this is neither fun nor rewarding.
Let’s just say, you get what you pay for.