The chronicles of an out of shape (and obviously deranged) romance writer who got the insane idea to run a marathon.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Scratch the healthy diet -- unless half a bag of potato chips qualifies
as health food? At least the wine I
drank last night was red.
has set in. It all seemed so hopeless
this morning on the treadmill, the odds too overwhelming, making me want to
give up. I can’t believe I used to run
seven minute miles, or eighteen miles at a stretch! Of course, I was thirty five years younger at
the time... Still, a one minute jog at a
thirteen-minute-mile pace feels like torture right now. Could I be in any worse shape? Giving up would make me even more pathetic,
though, so I must forge on.