THE GAUNTLET HAS BEEN THROWN.
And no, not by anybody from the Real World or Road Rules, or any challenge thereof (I love you, Coral). No, these have much humbler, less reality TV origins. It is entirely possible that I got drunk maybe a little bit with my father, and we are now running in the LA marathon. First person to the finish line wins bragging rights for all time, which means goddamn everything.
There's no turning back.
There's no backing down.
There's a possibility that until I find greener pastures, Eli is my coach.
Now you're like, oh hey even with your crippling handicap of being a girl surely your youth will compensate for your father's extreme old age. And normally you'd be right. But you see, after he gave up being an athlete for pursuing whatever he also maintained his "physical achievement" quota by being a marathon runner. Don't you worry though, I've got 5 months. 5 months and this new blog to keep track of my progress. Staple your pants to your legs, because this is going to get real fucking exciting.
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