I have a drawer full of running clothes. "Technical shirts" which wick moisture, long stretchy running slacks with zippers on the legs so I can pull them on over my over-priced and scientifically structured running shoes, belts to carry water bottles, and something called a "Spi-belt" which holds house keys, money, and telephone without letting them bounce. I am READY, baby! The only thing I don't have is the ambition. In fact, I would rather lick a pigeon. Once in a very blue moon (except the recent one, because I didn't feel like it) I actually go out and "ralk" at the beach. This is one-quarter run and three-quarters walk. Oh, I'm really a little better than that, and I can go two miles without needing a transplant. I have even done two 5K races. A 5K, for those of you who live in blissful ignorance of these things, is 3.1 miles long. You wear a number and usually get a tee-shirt that you will seldom wear again. These are very dangerous for me to do, because if I were any slower I would get sucked up into the street-sweeping machine. But I finished two of them. You'd think I'd be so proud of myself.
The reality is my husband has done the Boston Marathon eight times. EIGHT TIMES. And there were a couple of other marathons, but we don't even count them. Now I have a saying of which I'm fond, "Once is curiosity. Twice is perversion." I think it applies here, but what the heck, it makes him happy and as long as he's not chasing after a blonde he can catch I don't care and I'm glad he's taking care of himself. But my accomplishments (with my short little legs) pale beside my six-foot-plus string bean's. So I'm doing my blog (something he would NEVER tackle! HA!) and about to make another cup of tea. I may go for a run later. Nah, it's a jog. Who am I kidding? But I probably won't. But in my defense, let's remember one thing....the cat LOVES me!