I've pretty much abandoned my marathon dreams—at least for this summer. It seemed like such a cool thing to do to celebrate my 35th year, but I've reached a point in my training where I just don't want to do it anymore. Pick your excuse:
• I'm tired of having no social life. After three years in Chicago I'm finally getting invited to parties and dinners and movies with some halting regularity, and suddenly I have to turn everyone down because I have to run.
• I have worked my ass off (or on, as the case may be) in the gym to put muscle on my naturally skeletal frame. And it's paid off—people actually hit on me now. I think. But this constant running has been the fastest way to strip off many years' worth of muscular accumulation. Which is NOT something I'm emotionally ready to face. Not, at least, in the Year of the Homosexual.
• My knees always hurt. Which is making me feel OLD.
• Despite my varying training routes and my regular runs with FrontRunners, it's all getting rather boring.
• I'm just not having any fun.
But have no fear—I've put in enough training that I can easily be ready for my first half marathon in September. So I'm going to go for that. And in the mean time, I'll be pumping up at the gym. Or waiting by the phone for you to ask me on a date.