An Athlete

This week I'm starting my path to athlete-ism. I dared refer to myself AS an athlete at Borders the other day, clutching my 13-week running program book, and I thought Sam might pass out from laughing.

So I'm calling myself an almost athlete. For now. I'm working my way up.

And yes, it's a RUNNING program. But don't get all up and impressed. It involves a lot of walking. I like walking. I like sitting even more, but alas my ass is getting large enough to tell the world how much I love sitting, so I'm trying to love other things now. Walking and running seem good choices.

So in 13 weeks, in THEORY, I should be able to run a 5K. Now let's be real and say that of course "running" as the word is commonly used and defined (via good ol' Mr. Webster) is "to go rapidly or hurriedly." Well, I looked it up and I'll be more akin to THIS Webster's definition: "to go faster than a walk." Which, well, is pretty slow. I mosey, mostly. So my starting speed is already below average.

But I'm okay with that. I want to try to do this. For more reasons than I can list. And, you know, it's a start. Someday when I call myself an "athlete" Sam won't be able to so much as snicker.

Mostly. Maybe. Well, perhaps I can come close.