#buniontalk

I've never considered myself much of a runner.  Running is something I took up because I have the coordination of a newborn colt, and the grace and swiftness in athletic movements of a three-legged cat -- which prevents me from enjoying/contributing in organized sporting activities.  Even the intermural ones. Not to mention the fact that I love napping -- and staying indoors when it's raining.  About two years ago I had a spell where I got really into running mainly because the gym Charlie and I joined had personal TVs on each treadmill.

Real runners zen-out when they run, move with swiftness and majesty, know exactly when to load up on Gatorade and have definitive reasons/clear positions in the morning v. evening running time and pre v. post stretching debates.

In spite of the large chasm between myself and all the real runners of the world -- I made the hair-brained decision to start training for a marathon a few months back.  And, GUYZ - after dedicating months and pretty much all my free time to running + the discovery that I started sending text messages like the one below  -- I think that I mayyy  have reached real-runnerdom status:

{I have arrived. O-fficially}

I have no idea how to feel about said arrival or where to go from here.