Let’s make one thing perfectly clear right up front: I have no specific goals. OK that’s a lie. I have one specific goal. But it has no ancillary goal-hangers-on. My one goal stands solitary in its monolithic representation of the platonic ideal of “aspiration”. Like most good goals, I cannot achieve this goal tomorrow. But I do have a deadline. And I will do what is required to reach my goal when the deadline arrives.
I haven’t run much in the past four months. I started slacking off in September. I didn’t really run at all in November. And in December, I didn’t run at all. Until yesterday. Yesterday, Christmas Day, I dragged my sorry ass out in 25 degree weather (Farenheit!) and ran for 31 straight minutes. Five kilometers. Pace per mile: 9:59. Which is just fine. It’s especially fine considering the amount of time I took off. What it tells me is that my roughly 20 miles-a-week walking keeps me halfway decently fit.
But it’s not the same as running. I can tell because today I’m sore. Like, sore. And today, I ran another 5K. Slower. 34 minutes. Sore, and tired, I ran. Well, I jogged. Tomorrow, and for the next few days, I’ll do other kinds of things. Mostly the sort of physical labor associated with moving and packing. But through the winter, and into the spring, I’ll run. I’m running to Pittsburgh.
OK, I’m flying to Pittsburgh. But once I’m there, I’m running the Pittsburgh half-marathon, on May 4th. Yes, this alcoholic formerly obese pack-a-day-smoker is signed up to run 13.1 miles. In a row. Several friends are joining, including my new girlfriend BB (who has run actual marathons and is going to leave me in the dust at mile one). It’s going to be magnificent. And my only goal is to finish. That’s the goal. No time. No placement. Just finishing. I’m so excited. I’m gonna Run Like Hell.