Run, Rabbit. Run, Rabbit. Run. Run. Run.

For about a year I have been contemplating the idea of running the Paris Marathon. My running buddy, Becky, completed it last year and it was an amazing feat of inspiration and general pain. My cousin, Kate, ran the Queensland marathon earlier this year – again, pain. So I had been toying with the idea that maybe it was my turn. Then I saw how much it cost to run. Depending on how slow you were to sign up, the cost for putting yourself through torture and potentially dying was around the 100Euro mark. That seemed quite ridiculous and I think the organisers should pay the competitors to take part. Without runners, there is no marathon and no agony.

I briefly mentioned my horror of the price on Facebook and was overwhelmed by the number of people who encouraged me to sign up and who said they’d help pay for the cost of seeing me curl into a ball of ow. Such caring friends I have. I decided to hold off for a while because I am very good at thinking about things for long enough that a deadline passes and I can no longer do it and therefore don’t have to make the decision. Unfortunately, I then discovered a mysterious deposit in my bank account entitled “Paris Marathon”. I don’t know who sent it (although I have my suspicions) and the description of the deposit makes it pretty clear that this money isn’t just for a new pair of shoes.

So I have signed up. On 7 April 2013, I am going to die. Or at least my legs are going to fall off and I will never walk again. BUT hopefully that will be because I have run 42km and crossed the finish line. I am reasonably confident that I can make the distance, but I have heard of this thing called “THE WALL” that I am a little bit nervous about. The longest I have run is 30km and that was seriously boring and another 12km on top of that is quite unfathomable. But it’s a challenge and we all need challenges, right?

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