*This is a work of nonfiction based on actual events I experienced firsthand; used with permission.*
For all of my life I have been just a little bit overweight, and now as I am rapidly approaching forty years old, the weight seems to slowly keep piling on and staying there.
I honestly can’t complain.
Because I don’t go out of my way do do anything to change my weight.
I don’t diet, I don’t exercise, my knees hurt going up and down stairs and I get winded walking up even the smallest hills.
I’m in the worst shape in my life, and you’d think certain circumstances in my life would change this, but not so far.
One new development is that my boyfriend is training for a marathon, and as his partner, I have to support him.
I have to be supportive when he gets out of bed and leaves me early in the morning to go running.
I have to be supportive when he whines about his toenails falling off.
I have to be supportive even though I think that he and every other marathon runner is completely insane for taking on a twenty six mile race… for fun, supposedly.
Despite my sedentary lifestyle, and even though we are so different physically, he still loves and supports me, so obviously I have to support him in his efforts.
I will be there on the sidelines to throw him bananas and bottles of water, and I will be there at the finish line to give him a big, sweaty, congratulatory hug.
If anyone is going to be wild enough to take on marathon training, they need people in their lives to support them through the efforts, so I will do my best to be the most supportive partner to him I can be.