It was a Thursday night and I was drunk again. I’m not an alcoholic, but every Thursday night, and some Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s, I would go out for a pitcher or two with my buddies Josh and Elicia. We would grab some fried bar food, order a round or two and log in to do our MBA classes together. After class we would hang out and tell war stories, business stories and just how easy it is to change the world.
During this particular boasting session, I announced one of my bucket list items; I was going to run a marathon at the age of 40. It’s funny how this particular milestone is on everyone’s list. I meet thousands of people every year and the vast majority of them say they want to run a full marathon. 26.2 miles of goal setting goodness. Josh laughed. Elicia said I could do it and I logged in and signed up the Disney Marathon in January.
It was August. The furthest I’d run in years was 2 miles. But I figure, if you’re going to go crazy, go full crazy. Don’t half ass it. That night, I started training. I strapped on a pair of worn out Cross trainer’s and took off on a circle around my neighborhood. I made it one mile. Then I turned around and walked back.
The next day I did it again. I ran out a mile and turned around to run a half mile back. I finished with walking the next half mile. I did it on Saturday, though I went out two miles on this hot gorgeous August day, and walked back. And again on Sunday.
This was my formula. I would keep the distance at 3 miles until I could run the entire route. Then I upped to 5 miles, out and back. I would run until I couldn’t run, and then walk back. I drank lots of water, because let’s face it, August in Florida is hot!!! But I just kept going. I didn’t worry about time, or how I looked or what I wore or my shoes.
I just ran. One step at a time.