I don't have anything smartass to say about cherry blossoms. Sorry, kids.
WEATHER: The kind of day that proves the existence of a deity of some sort.
WHERE TO: Howard U. Reservoir
This is just how we do things in the Republic of DJ, kids. We get injured, we bitch, we moan, we go to overpriced appointments with ineffectual doctors, we recover, and when our physical therapists say, “I’m restricting you to 10-mile runs for a few weeks,” we calmly respond, “OK. So I’m running the Boston Marathon in 3 weeks, naturally.” Then we crank out a master’s thesis, which — including table of contents, appendix, index, dedication, shout-outs, and autograph page — is 120 freaking pages, and we invite all our best and loudest girlfriends to town for Cherry Blossom Fest (and consequently, I think because of the decibel level, but it might also be the pee in the reflecting pools, get banned from all future Cherry Blossom Fests).
So. I’m running Boston one week from today. Do I know how it will go? No. Will it be a PR? Absolutely not. Will it be AWESOME anyhow? Sure as hell, my friends.
Life is stressful. Life is beautiful. I will take my overnight train to the race and then take an overnight train back and not have to miss any work at all. Because I did not alert anyone at work that I would be running this thing. And so, when on Tuesday they say, “So, how was your weekend, Danielle, and why are you walking funny?” I can just respond with my usual, “Oh, you know…bonerrific,” and they will shrug and nod.
Or, if I’m feeling like a badass, I will be able to say, “Oh, you know…I sort of decided to run the Boston Marathon. Also, afterwards, I got down and got bonerrific.” And they will be blowwwwwwwwwwn away.
So I will finish that race in a slower time than ever before and drop to my knees and vom and diarrhea at the same time. But before I do, I will shake my thang and recite the pledge of allegiance to the Republic of DJ:
“I pledge allegiance
to the 50-foot radius that surrounds my body,
which I have declared the Republic of DJ,
and to the prevailing legal code,
which is based around the perpetual goodness of being naked
and also drinking Diet Cokes in the shower.
Stop judging; it’s delicious and relaxing also,
and you need to relax
when you’re rocking this shit <flashes webcam>.”
Or maybe I will just do my best running-man dance and recite the abbreviated version:
“God bless! Touch my bum and BELIEVE! Let’s go get wasted!”