Running 26.2 Miles—Best Idea Ever!

Wanna hear a joke? I’m gonna run a marathon. That’s it. That’s the punch line. It may not seem funny, but that’s only because you haven’t heard the setup. My name is Dawn, and prior to deciding to do this, I probably hadn’t moved twenty miles in my life without the help of an automated device. A marathon is 26.2 miles. But we’ll dwell on that insignificant detail later. More about my lifestyle first.

I work approximately six blocks from my house. It costs fifty dollars a month to park in the office parking lot. A normal person with full use of her legs and senses would walk to work. I am not a normal person. My legs work fine, but my senses have never been in great shape. And those senses are disappointed every day at the end of my two-and-a-half-minute commute. Why? Because I park on the sixth floor and work on the seventh. Yes, mathematicians, that leaves one flight of stairs I have to walk up before I make it to work. It is almost more than I can take. I’ve thought about trying to get a parking permit for the lobby, which would eliminate the use of stairs altogether. I’m not sure how the receptionist would feel about me parking in front of her desk, but I’d be fine with it. I’ve never been a big fan of moving.

I’m a believer in the “don’t run unless chased” philosophy of personal fitness. And even then, it really depends on who’s doing the chasing. ’Cause let’s be honest, I’m not going to outrun many people; so why not skip all that running and just get to the part where they catch me? A bit anticlimactic, yes, but much more energy efficient.

So, yeah, I’m gonna run a marathon. See, I told you it was funny.

How is it that I went from Elmer Fudd to the Road Runner? Well, I came home one day to find a postcard from the American Stroke Association in my mailbox. It showed very happy people very happily running a marathon to raise money for the American Stroke Association (hence their being featured on the association’s postcard).