That’s right, my three cherished readers, I bought a running journal to help me become more intentional about reaching my goals. It’s got a pretty cover and is filled with photos–mostly of runners breaking world records wearing little more than a race bib and rippling abs.
I misplaced my own abs a long time ago. I last remember seeing them somewhere around age 25, but haven’t been able to locate them since, so if you happen to bump into them, tell them to come home. Mamma misses them.
Back to my journal.
As I flipped through its pages, admiring the fun charts and sage advice, my eyes grabbed on to this particular line: “Bringing integrity back to your running means you have to stop worrying about where you should be and own where you are.”
Own where I am?
What sort of realism babble is this book peddling anyway?!
I’d much rather wait until I’m running faster and farther before I start logging my actual miles and stain these unblemished pages with my honesty.
Sure, I understand that waiting to establish a baseline is a little deceptive, but no more so than squeezing into a pair of Spanx or wearing a toupee.
What’s that you say, Running Diary? I’m missing the whole point of your existence? I should record every run, no matter how disappointing, to keep me accountable and propel me on to greatness?
Sigh … consider me intrigued.