It's Mrs. Wildman's fault. She encouraged me. She prodded me. She dared me. So I started running. I was not being chased by a bear nor by the police - the only 2 justifications for running that I've held for over 35 years. There I was, shiny shoes and all, and I was-a-RUNNANG! (spoken with Forrest Gump accent)We ran a 5K together last June, then another of 4th of July. Now I'm signed up to run a half marathon next month, less than a year after I choked, wheezed, and drug my sorry hind end on the first voluntary run ever of my adult life (and that was just the first 2 blocks). Now I find myself looking at marathon schedules, training programs, triathlon regimens and diets...what is wrong with me?!?!? Perhaps I'm having a mid-life exercise crisis. If that's the case, so be it. Worst case scenario, I pull a hammy and end up on the couch, or I actually achieve my goals and end up getting tattoos to commemorate them. Either way, the experience is worth it, I guess.
So there you have it. Mr. Wildman is slowly becoming Mr. "Run Like The [slow, gently blowing] Wind" Wildman, one step at a time.
Citius-Altius-Fortius
