And you’re pretty much always like, “Um, really, Sally? It’s just a cold. Get over it.”?
Well, this time I totally mean it, you guys.
I’m going to die.
This weekend, to be exact.
(In an effort to be unreasonably hopeful, I’ve decided to label this post “Part 1” — you know, in the off-chance that after this weekend I still might be able to use my limbs. But, most likely, this is my last blog post ever. I hope you like it. And if you don’t, you’re just going to have to pretend you do because it’s not nice to think ill thoughts of dead people’s blog posts.)You see, I signed up to run a 10K race.
And that race just so happens to be this weekend.
Yeah, yeah, I know.
I’m sure you’re all, “What? A 10K? Really? Isn’t that like six miles or something? My grandmother runs six miles every morning. And she’s in a wheelchair. And attached to an oxygen tank. Because she happens to be in a coma.”
Okay, I’ll admit that running a 10K may not sound that scary to most people. Heck, it doesn’t even sound that scary to me. And pretty much everything sounds scary to me. Even stuff that other people find enjoyable. Like puppies and babies and beaches.Besides, it’s not like this is my first race.
You may not believe this, but I used to run races pretty regularly back when I lived in Japan. Heck, I hardly believe it.
You see, I’ve never exactly been the runner type, but I had all these pushy, runner-type friends. They’d sign up for races and then get me sign up with them by telling me I’d get a free t-shirt. And while I’m not exactly the runner type, I am totally the free-t-shirt type.
Instead, I got fish.
During my last year in Japan, I ran a full marathon. I almost lost a kneecap, and I had to deal with the humiliation of running slower than a man dressed in a full body monkey costume.
But, still, I finished the thing.
And it was totally worth it because I got a free t-shirt and a free towel. Oh yeah, and because of the wonderful sense of accomplishment I got. But mostly because of the free towel.So why am I freaking out about a little, old 10K?
The thing about this particular 10K is that it’s on top of a wall.
The Great Wall to be exact.
I should probably mention here that I’ve never even walked on the Great Wall. The closest I’ve gotten to the Great Wall was when I was in Beijing last year, and I took photos of myself in front of a mural of the Great Wall at a KFC.
Even that didn’t end well.
I could do this thing.I remained hopeful. Even if everyone else thought I was crazy.
When I told my mom about the race, her response was to tell me I was going to die. Granted, this is my mom’s usual response to most of my plans. It’s possible my mom thinks I’m going to die even more often than I think I’m going to die. And I bet you didn’t even think that was possible.
“Well,” she said, “Make sure they don’t move your body very far. When I come to pick it up, I want to see all the good stuff. I don’t want to have to go to some place I’ve never even heard of. ”
Then she paused.
I thought maybe she was regretting what she had just said, like the whole part about HOW I WAS GOING TO DIE AND THAT SHE’D HAVE TO COME PICK UP MY DEAD BODY.
Maybe she’d even offer up some words of encouragement. Although, frankly, my mom is not exactly the “words of encouragement” type. (Maybe you noticed?)
Instead, she just kept going, “Actually, your father would probably go instead of me. He always gets to do the fun stuff like that.”
At least they’ve got that sorted.The full impact of what I’d signed up for didn’t hit me until about a month ago, when my race packet was delivered.
Inside the race packet was a big glossy pamphlet with information about the race. The pamphlet is full of maps and timetables and a page of tips “from the medical team.” These tips included stuff like, “Always listen to your body” and “Consume salty foods in the days leading up to the race.” (I guess that means I better start shoving more potato chips into my face. Doctor’s orders and all! I can honestly say this is the first time both my body and doctors have agreed on something.)
The pamphlet is also full of photos like this one:
And this one:
And this one:
Pretty much all of the photos feature people who look a lot fitter than me. And all of them look like they’re on the brink of death.
Or on the brink of falling off the Wall.
I have started referring to this pamphlet as “The Handbook for My Imminent Demise.” And I try not to look at it too much as it kind of makes me hyperventilate.
So, yeah, you guys.I’m totally going to die.
So, lest this be my last blog post, I have a few requests.
I’d like to be buried in my bathrobe. Because I’m all about dying the way I lived.
I’d also like my couch donated to charity as it’s pretty much my most prized possession. (Okay, so, technically, it’s not my possession at all. But, still, this is my dying wish, so it has to be granted, right?)
And I’d like my Macbook set on fire as this thing is full of emo journal entries, incriminating drunken photos and Ke$ha songs. And that’s not really how I want to be remembered.
I’d rather be remembered like this:
And, yeah, make sure they don’t move my body very far. Because my mom wants to see all the good stuff.Have you ever signed up for something that you totally thought was going to kill you? Did it kill you? (Okay, I realize that if you’re dead right now it’s probably going to be pretty hard for you to leave a comment, but try anyway, okay?)