Excuses, excuses...

I awoke one morning in late 2008 with the revelation that I wanted to run a marathon.  I thought, "Why not?"  Afterall, I believe in myself and, let's face it, if I want something, I usually find a way to get it or make it happen.

Fast-forward to November 8, 2010.  Let's take a look at the list of things I wanted to accomplish, an annual bucket list of sorts: win the lottery (nope), get a new car (yep), wrangle up a boyfriend or even an occasional date (skant), new furniture (yep), run a marathon (hells no).

I've run a few 5k's and I'm proud of that, but I've since discovered that running just isn't my thing.  My boobs are too big and my knees are too shot to find much, if any, enjoyment in the activity.  Although I'm pretty sure my big boobs and shot knees should offer me some type of advantage in the boyfriend category, but maybe that's just wishful thinking....

An even bigger kick in the teeth to me was the news story about the Chilean miner who was stuck miles below the surface for over two-months, trained by jogging in place wearing steel-toed boots, and just finished the New York marathon.  Kudos to you, Mr. Miner, but suck it sideways for upstaging me!

Maybe I'm just making excuses.  Maybe not.  I really wish I enjoyed running and could find my "zone" as they call it.  I've gotten better; I'm a master "wogger" and I no longer suck air and think I'm going to pass out while jogging up the street, but I doubt I'll ever run a marathon.   And I'm OK with that fact.

What I'm not OK with - the lack of sex in my life.  Not that I haven't had offers.  I mean, come on, have you seen my rack??  Unfortunately those offers while tempting- come with baggage.  The only baggage I'm looking for right now is one with a Burberry label, thank you very much.

*Disclaimer - if anyone from my family reads this, I apologize for the potential mouth-vomiting after visualizing my rack.