Over the holidays, my cousin asked if I might be interested in running a half-marathon. We ran a very relaxed half two years ago and had a great time. We have the mutual interest in wanting to get into shape and I have been tossing around the idea of a race in the darker corners of my mind for some time.
And so we committed. To the Cincinnati Flying Pig. We are dragging the sister and the new brother-in-law in on the sadistic fun because adrenaline-induced misery loves company.
Which means that I need to run around twenty miles a week during this cold and miserable time of year.
Which means, I go to the gym and run on a treadmill to avoid the cold.
Which means, I feel like a hamster.
Also, considering my aversion to pork products and byproducts and other things snout-related, I spend a good deal of my hamsterhood convincing myself that no pigs will actually be flying by my head (or past my car) during this race.