Back to reality

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I haven't written a blog in a while. In a long while. During the time of my absence you could have conceived, birthed, and raised a child. I get it, and I apologize.

I was on top of the world back in October when I placed 4th in a writing contest, as I'm confident you'll remember. Since then, I've been dodging paparazzi, adopting children from Africa, shaving my head, and getting chased down by Swedes bearing golf clubs.... you know, typical famous people stuff. But I want my old life back. I'm sick of the fame. Sick of the fortune. I'm a normal person, just like you. I just want to be Carla again.

This is precisely the reason my sister and I have decided to set a totally normal-person goal for ourselves. A fairly lofty remarkably long goal actually. Thirteen.point.one miles long to be exact. That's right. The Sawatski's will be running in their first, and likely their last, half-marathon on March 7, 2010. Why? Because I always said I never could. And who better to prove wrong than yourself?

I consider myself a fairly athletic person. Whether or not my high school box scores reflect that is beside the point. I have professional athletes in my immediate family. And I'm not one to brag, but if I was, I would mention that I have five, count them FIVE, intramural championships under my belt. But like I said, I'm not one to brag. In light of this, up until about a month ago, 13.1 miles was approximately 12.1 miles longer than I had run without stopping in the past decade. And that is a fact.

That being said, I don't think anyone would dare accuse me of being a "runner". If everyone I ever knew did an acrostic of my name and were forced to come up with one word to describe me that began with an R, "runner" is the last thing I would expect to see. Radical? Clearly. Radiant? Obviously. Realistic? Affirmative. But Runner? Not a snowball's chance in hell. I wake up sore if I even have a dream about running. My high school track career spanned the course of a single day. That brisk, April morning was the exact morning that I discovered that I'm not fast, I can't jump, and passing that baton thing is infinitely harder than it looks. But I got to miss a day of school, and that's what counted.

My official word is that this is not a publicity stunt. But I also can't promise that Johanna isn't Tiger Woods' alleged mistress #17. I can't promise that she is, either. That's really for the public to decide.