Monday is bearing down on me already. For the last couple months, I've been struggling to find the motivation or energy or panic-induced adrenaline to buckle down and get stuff done. This next week is looking like it could be really difficult even if I do finally get religion and get to work.
Even as I sit here stewing, our town is hosting a real live Ironman triathalon event. This morning, a bunch of people decided it would be a good idea to swim 2.4 miles around the lake, bicycle 112 miles, and then run a marathon. The newspaper ran a story about a woman diagnosed with MS in 1998 who will be competing:
As MS took a toll on her legs and vision, Carey Stillman found herself going through an intense psychological process. First came grief and denial. Then came anger. Then came enlightenment.
"I think a lot of people get this diagnosis and curl up in a ball," she said. "They let it take control of them, when they should take control of it."
If I was a more determined person, if I'd been less of a pessimist, if I had eaten more Wheaties and drank less beer, could I have been running marathons today? Could I have, by force of will, transformed myself and my life into an inspiring story of one man's refusal to give in to a crippling illess, a story ripe for a TV docudrama in which I am portrayed by Anthony Edwards (not a bad match, but maybe someone with a little more sex appeal)?