Whoa-hoa-hoa. . . we just got back from the gym, and I now have a very important announcement to make: I ran for twenty straight minutes. I think this might need it’s own paragraph so that even people who come to this site for half a second and think, “Bor-ring!” will know! They need to know. Everyone needs to know. This may, actually, be the proudest moment of my life to date.
I just ran for twenty straight minutes, and I did not die.
Not only did I not die, I actually, in a sick sort of way, enjoyed it, just a little bit (more the accomplishment than the running, you know). I hardly recognize myself. My legs? They did not burn! My lungs? Did not try to throw themselves onto the ground via my throat. It was a really, really thrilling moment.
It’s funny to think that only two months ago, it nearly did me in just to run for 90 consecutive seconds. I know, I know. . . probably every one’s grandmother can run more than that. What’s my problem? My problem is that I am a wimpy baby.
But no more! Tomorrow I’ll run 100 minutes and then the next day, probably a marathon, if I can’t find a 50K to run. (Just kidding – tomorrow I will probably run for eight minutes and then be convinced that I am on death’s door. Alas).