Crazy

I get called crazy a couple times a week. I've come to see it as a term of endearment. I guess I can't really blame people for giving me that moniker. I do have some lofty plans for this year and a lot of it has me on the road.

I have dubbed 2012 the year of adventure. The way I see it,  you never know when life will be over so you might as well pack as much in as you can.

I've always been an active person. I'm the daughter of a cross country and track coach who won her first race when she was 4 years old. I was the girl that asked for bikes and ball gloves instead of Barbies. (The first and last time I agreed to play Barbies with a friend, I spent the whole time wondering what was fun about sitting there holding a 6 inch piece of plastic pretending to make her do fake things when I could get up and do real things myself.) So it shouldn't be surprising that as an adult I like to keep active.

But there's a fine line between activity and lunacy and according to the people who know me, apparently I've crossed it.

You see, this year I've resolved to run a half marathon on each coast and one in the middle for good measure. I've also planned to complete at least 3 triathlons. And possibly, if I have the energy, I'd like to get in my first century ride (Yes - that's 100 miles. On a bike. All at one time. Your butt hurts just thinking about it, doesn't it?) Here's the thing though. You have to train for these things. That's harder to do when you have a full-time job. So it's not uncommon for me to come to work having already put in couple miles on foot or 20 or so on the bike. Long ago people stopped doing double takes when they walked into my office and saw a bike leaning against the wall or noticed me walking to my car wearing head to toe spandex.

Yes, people have stopped being surprised at my lifestyle. But that doesn't mean they don't still call me crazy.