Posted in Uncategorized

Run, Auntie, Run

13.1: miles in a 1/2 marathon

4.5: days until the race (race!  Ha!)

298: times each day I look in the mirror and cuss myself out for signing up

5:  number of months we’ve been training

6:  pounds I’ve gained while running

7:  pounds really

1:  day I’ve trained when the temperature was above 40 degrees

112:  degrees it will probably be on the day of the marathon

20,999:  number of people that are going to trample me at the start line (I can only hope)

3: hours that I pray I can finish in

40:  mph the ambulance will drive to get me to the nearest hospital after I collapse across the finish line.

2: number of knees that will afterward need replacing

17:  blisters on each big toe

13:  years it will take me to recover

0: times I will ever run again unless being chased by a rabid dog

************

I picked up my marathon shirt the other day. 

I’m running with a very large group of fellow agile, vigorous marathoners from my hometown.

We’re all wearing the same shirt, so we can be noticed out of the 21,000 other runners.

It’s definately loud enough.

Really……it’s probably not a good idea to ask me how I’m feeling. 

The Harvester is our little town’s mascot. 

The mighty Harvester who wields a fierce sickle or yo-yo or something.

Bringing in the sheaves,
Bringing in the sheaves,
We shall come rejoicing,
Bringing in the sheaves.

Sorry.  Just looking at him makes me want to break out into song.

Ask me how I’m feelin’ and I’m supposed to say Harvester Good.

But only time will tell what may come out of my mouth on Sunday after about 8.4 miles into it.

After aches, pains, limps, cramps, sweating, wheezing, dehydrating, and puking, I’m supposed to say Harvester Good.

Wrong Answer.

I  hope I can refrain from flying the bird to all those questioning, happy spectators.

Jason suggested mine should say something else,
like….

“Because I’m stupid” 

or

“Because teaching school isn’t punishment enough” 

or maybe

“Because I really don’t need my knees”

but my favorite is

“Because I make limping look good”

But seriously y’all.

Will all the joking aside, this is rumored to be an awesome experience.

One that I will never forget. 

Maybe even cherish.

 And all the hard work, time, blood, sweat, and glucosomine chondroitin will be well worth it.

“There will be days when I don’t know if I can run a marathon. There will be a lifetime knowing that I have.”

See ya at the races,
Angel

Advertisements

Author:

I’m Angel, a.k.a. Rocket Surgeon, and these are my chronicles. I love writing and I believe our stories should be shared, so here you’ll find anecdotes of my life, loves, worries, fears, joys, and experiences. I blog about my mishaps and adventures as a wife, mommy, auntie, wanna-be writer, teacher, Texan, country/city/mountain girl, cereal killer and Jesus-freak. A few things you might discover about me: •Jesus is my everything; without Him I am nothing, but with him I can do all things •My family makes this world a better place for me to live in •I adore chickens, the live ones, although the cooked ones aren’t too bad either •I have 2 dogs: Grace and Ozzie. And one cat: Rocky Muffin •My dream job would be to raise chickens and write best sellers Thanks for stopping by. Kick off your shoes and stay awhile. I know your time is valuable and I honor you for spending a few moments here with me. I hope you find something to brighten your day, lighten your load, make you chuckle and remind you of the good in the world. “When you look for the bad in mankind, expecting to find it, you surely will." Pollyanna I’m always eager to meet new online friends, so leave a comment and introduce yourself.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s