One of the dumb things my hormones manages to do most months is lead me to believe that I have superpowers (nope) and unlimited money (nooooooope) to take on Big Projects. For a day or two, I decide to repaint every inch of the house (our front hall has been 1/4 stripped since October), adopt a dog (Hamish would murder it, and then me), figure out how to do a PhD (on what? sarcasm on the CBC current affairs programs in the 1960s — oh man, I should totally do that), go on a months-long tour of the Antipodes (who needs a job?), or, like March Menstrual Madness has brought this year, to ponder the idea of doing a marathon this fall.

Chances are I won’t. I ran (mostly) about 20% of a marathon on Sunday and was (figuratively) screaming ‘ẄHYYYYYYY?!’ for some of it. I am prone to injury, allergy attacks, and overheating when the temperatures get warmer than Icelandic spring. I have not run a ‘good’ race in years. Oh, and I am cacking lazy. I hit snooze about 970 times this morning rather than do the 12 minute run test my training plan is asking me to do.*

(Snooze should never have been invented, but I am too weak not to use it. Agh.)

And yet? Last night, I was looking at running clinics starting in June with the goal of doing the Toronto Waterfront Marathon in October. I was going to head down to run the half- with Jackie anyway, so what’s another 21.1K and several hours of running, right?

Just blown out knees, hundreds of hours of arse-aching training, and lots and lots of missed Netflix.

Perhaps it’d be worth it?

Probably not?

Maybe?

* I will do it after work. No, really!