…and other dumb rules. That’s what this blog post is about.
Those of you who know me (and let’s face it, that’s basically all of you. If you read this blog, you’re a personal friend) know that I go to great lengths to procrastinate writing. This year I picked a doozy: running a marathon.
I went out, a few months ahead of time, I bought a new pair of shoes with a new pair of insoles. I strapped all that on. I got out on the street, ran four miles, immediately contracted plantar fasciitis (again) and a mystery knee pain (well, either a mystery or an ongoing part of the 1999 Juarez cave bar incident).
And after that, I never really trained for the marathon.
There are a lot of rules in life. One of them is, don’t try to run a marathon you didn’t train for. Another is, don’t end a sentence with a preposition, like for. One of these rules is kinda dumb. The other is smart and great advice.
Guess which is which?
Anyway, I went to Honolulu and I did the marathon. I wouldn’t say I ran it. Maybe the first third. The second third, I trudged. And in the third third, I bargained with a higher power, hallucinated a bit, and tried to figure out if I was dying.
This was a stupid ploy to get out of finishing my novels.
This year I’m doing a triathlon.
And I’m publishing two novels.
