we're getting old. seriously. and i'm not sure how i feel about it (and by that, i mean i want to hurl myself off the nearest building). last week i turned twenty nine; that's one more year to the big three-oh. holy crap. i don't know why i'm so surpised; even though i'm the baby of the group, i've always felt the oldest. i was the first to get married, the first to have a baby, the first to buy a sensible car. i think the mere fact that it's a reality - that i can look at my driver's license and see, beyond a doubt, that i am about to exit my twenties... it's horrifying.
so what do we decide to do? run 13.1 miles. dressed as princesses. why the hell not, right? and, let's be honest, it's not about the run. it's about the enormous, only-Disney-could-do-it-up-right, sparkly medal. i'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that none of us are, well, physically fit. wait, i lie. sandrina is. she's a gym junkie - but even she's no runner. and we're going to run. for 5 miles. and then 8.1 more. CRAZY.
wow, i'm getting ahead of myself. i guess i have to start training first. something i'm not allowed to do for another two weeks. you see, to add to the sinking "crap, we're getting old" feeling i've had for the last ten years, i've actually physically become old. apparently my boobs are the first to go, as i had a hunk of one removed today. fun times. "no bouncing" allowed. so, i will follow along with everyone's training for the next 10-14 days, sitting idly by on my fat ass, feeling sorry for you. and by "sitting idly by" i mean chasing around an 18-month old, writing a halftime show, creating months worth of lesson plans, being a wife, and wondering where the hell i'm going to fit running into my schedule. but i'm going to do this. we're all going to do this.
we're turning thirty, ladies, and we won't go quietly.
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