Having a Goal

Picked up the paper this morning and read about a fellow who decided to run the Boston Marathon twenty-six weeks in a row. A friend joined him and another friend drove the two of them to the starting line, followed behind with water and "snacks", and then drove them home.

I'm impressed. I try and walk two miles before breakfast— up and down small hills and then chickened out today because of rain—

In the dead of deep winter I settle for the treadmill before breakfast.

But his attention to completing the task has rejuvenated my resolve—unless the rain is a deluge and the snow is over my boots.

Writing a 50,000 word novel that makes some sense in thirty days is a goal. Two years ago I had to give myself a pep talk before sitting down at the computer.

"No revision."
"So what if it's banal and boring—it's all about the word count, isn't it?"

This time around Ill have an outline and I really hope that the story progresses —I do have a story I want to write. I'm looking at this as an opportunity to write a sloppy first first draft.

And I really want to buy one of those neat sweatshirts and I loved the certificate that attests to my completion of the novel writing goal.

When I was ten I did get a Duncan Yo Yo patch—not one of those given to Regional Champions. I had, after all, practiced Walking the Dog and Around the World, for hours.

My guess is that the two men running the marathon for twenty-six weeks don't need a certificate or a tee shirt, or a patch.