I was a competitive runner in high school. I still love staying active, and I’ve finally made a full year without a running-related injury. My home state boasts two well-known marathons, which my friends’ frequently rave about. Some have even qualified and completed the Boston Marathon, and I always find their war stories inspiring.
In light of all I know about their experiences, I would like to make an official commitment. I hereby commit to NEVER running a marathon in the next ten years.
Gasp. I’ve committed the cardinal sin of the fitness world. EVERYONE knows that EVERYONE who works out regularly dreams of running a marathon, right?
It feels taboo to confess that I’m not reaching for the stars in every aspect of life.
But let’s get real, people. 26.2 miles is a looong distance. I think twice before driving that far.
I hear all you runners: “That’s what it’s about! You push your limits and discover that your body is capable of more than you ever expected!” And sure, if I invested hours and hours each week into training instead of spending time with my loved ones, writing, walking my dog, or reading, I could probably complete a marathon. I get it.
You know what, though? Right now I can’t run a marathon, and I’m at peace with that. Maybe I’d feel differently if I lived in ancient Greece, where I could hustle my ass 26.2 miles and save my entire citystate from destruction. These days, if I’m the first person to spot an incoming war fleet? We’re all done-zo, period.
The reality is I’m an exercise minimalist: I exercise the minimum amount necessary to maintain my minimum dress size and maximum lifespan.
Sincere congratulations to any marathoners who may read this entry; I understand exactly how much work goes into that achievement. And that’s exactly why I’m not interested.
