So far, 2010 has been so insanely horrific that people have stopped asking, “Hey, Bev, how’s it going?” They’re afraid I’ll answer. If you’ve been paying close attention to the blog, you are vaguely aware that I’ve been up to my Floridian elbows in alligators. The blog has evolved into material less about the joy of running and more about the annoyance of whining.
Gang, I’ve decided that we need the running version of a Mulligan. We gotta have a do-over. No year should start like this.
When we launched 2010, I was on a singular mission to run New York.
It is said that if you want to hear God laugh, make plans. He must be hysterical about now. Life broadsided me so hard that it knocked me to my knees. Running took a back seat on the Seventh Level of Hell. And then New York rejected me, which in retrospect was probably cosmic retribution for my getting sloppy about running when life went upside down. I committed the unpardonable sin. Runners run, no matter what. And I just didn’t.
As a writer, I sometimes see life in terms of plot and character and outline. I’ve concluded that I need a rewrite here. A new chapter is in order. I’m getting busy, babies! I’ve set my keyboard on STUN!
I’m declaring today to be New Year’s Eve. I’m starting 2010 all over again. Right here. Right now. If it’s true that the manner in which you spend New Year’s Eve is the manner in which you will spend your year, then I’ll be spending the day working hard, the early evening with beloved friends, and midnight running into tomorrow.
Happy New Year, my darlings!
I wish you a year of joy, peace, prosperity, and PRs. Me too. Let's do it better this time.