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Friday, October 15, 2010

All Roads Lead to Disney

Next year I will turn 40. It's actually not a big deal, since a large number of people keep insisting on telling me how much better life is after 40 and how this next decade will be my BEST ever. Even though things are pretty awesome in my life right now, I'll go with that - what have I got to lose?

I'm not a bucket list kind of girl. I'm more the pull it out of my ass at the last minute, do it because you can't think of a good reason not to kind of person. Writing things down to do before I turn X, Y or Z just means that I will feel guilty about the shit that I never do, and who needs more guilt? I'm already Catholic, and that's enough for me.

In January, if the power above is on my side, I will complete a half-marathon at WDW in honor of my grandmother. Half-marathons are not really a part of my vocabulary, but again, I couldn't really think of a reason not to do it. Maurie Reilly died of leukemia decades before I was ever born, missing the chance to get an earthside seat to the lives of her children, grandchildrean and the many great-grandchildren who have arrived over the years. I love to hear the stories that my mother and aunt and uncle tell about my grandparents. I resent that I never got to know them personally. May I live to see a world where getting the big C only means that you scored an average grade in school.

I am not inherently lazy, but I admit that fitness is the F word in my world. While my neighbors are running the half, my dear friend is training to run it and one pal is doing the WHOLE marathon, I am plodding along, in it to FINISH, not to win. What drives people to haul ass like they are being chased by mountain lions is beyond me. The "rush" that one gets from crossing the finish line is often what I get at the tail end of a great yoga class, lying flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, and contemplating my navel.

Of course, if I told you that I was raising money for a YOGA marathon, you would mock me. So, I accept that I must leave my comfort zone to please the evil in all of you that believes that if it doesn't hurt, it isn't work. I'm not afraid. Tired maybe, a little sore, but not afraid. Ten years ago I walked 60 miles and slept in a god-awful rained out tent for two nights. That was endurance -- THIS is just (literally) a walk in the park.

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