About This Book
I’ve decided that the creative arts are not for me. I still can’t boil spaghetti and I think there’s an arrest warrant out against me for public indecency. So onward now to a new challenge—running a marathon.
I’ve decided that there will be safety in numbers and no matter how ridiculous I look in lycra, I can’t look any worse than the guy in the galloping urinal, or the other guy dressed as a demented hen. Well, at least I hope not. Maybe I’ll use them as pacemakers.
So I burst through that starting line full of enthusiasm, knowing I could beat a galloping urinal any day of the week, but by the end I realized I was in a one-woman race—and I do have a track record for beating myself, you know.
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