I'm an official trail runner. On Wednesday, I took my my first tumble and slammed my left knee into the dirt hard enough to draw blood. My running partners were elated. "Don't brush off the blood, don't brush off the blood," exclaimed one. "Wait until we get back to the car to photograph it." (Which we did. Michael--where's my photo??) =)
I showed Blair the bloody knee. "Stop running!" he said. "You're picking off body parts one by one." He's referring to the fact that I've also lost my first toenail (I know, gross), a common runner malady, plus the blisters and soreness that send me hobbling around the house. Sometimes I feel like Quasimodo, lurching around from room to room. Blair asks why I do this and I leer up at him from my hunched over, contorted position and answer, "For my health."
But that's a lie. It's all about ego. "I will be a healthy, heart-happy person" will not take me over the finish line. "I am going to be one of only 400,000 people in the country to finish a marathon" will.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go dab alcohol on my wounds...