I make Failure look Good.

26 May 2025

I make Failure look Good.

I am 53 years old today, and I decided a few days ago that I wanted to run the Boston Marathon. Timeframe: 2 years.

That’s going from not running at all, hardly walking, barely exercising, obese, chocolate-loving, nightly rum-drinking, to the Boston Marathon.

Think I can do it?

I’m not sure, but I’m hell's bells going to try.

Even if I fail, I’m going to look fantastic!

Why now?

I have let myself go since about 2017 when my Dad passed away after suffering from the complications of prostate cancer. My teenage son had come to spend a lot of time with me and I saw myself through his eyes. Fat, old, out of shape. I didn't like it.

My son isn’t afraid to speak his mind and gave me some very clear messages. I’ll sum them up for you:

1)      I’m looking old these days.

2)      I’m out of shape.

3)      He’s still going to be young when I die.

Harsh, yes, but wrong; no.

It got me to thinking. I don’t want to go out like that. I can’t do much about the aging, but I sure as hell can do something about the obesity and longevity, at least a quality of life with whatever time fate decides I’m out, I shed my mortal coil, kapoot.

Background: I have at times, been a hot mom. I used to ride my bicycle anywhere from 14 to 23 miles 4 times a week. I have been on a weight-loss/gain roller coaster for quite some time, and I want to get off. For good.

So far, I’ve lost 21 pounds. I feel better, I’m happier, I’ve got some momentum, some motivation and I am a very stubborn person. If I’ve set my mind to something, I’m going to do it. What does happen to keep me on that roller coaster is an outside force coming in hot, derailing me. What did it last time? My father’s death after 3 full months of suffering.

I’ll never forget I was stuffing Little Caesar’s stuffed crust pepperoni pizza in my mouth when the funeral home called to tell me about ‘next steps’. I’m sure he could barely understand me as I choked down the greasy, cheesy million-calorie slice of heart-attack pie. And I never stopped eating. I ate myself into a 50-pound weight gain over the next five years.

My son probably gave me several extra years of my life by telling me the truth. Now, if I can just keep from getting injured and keep my mother healthy and happy, I will see myself crossing the finish line in Boston in 2 years.

Wish me luck