Writing about regular races got me to thinking about goals. I used to have ambitious goals. Lately I’m a bit scared of dreaming or expecting much. Fear of failure perhaps. Inevitable disappointments from adult life.
In college I spent way too much time thinking and reading about running, and, oh yes, doing a bit of that actual running. During boring classes my freshman year I made a list of running goals. I wanted to run a sub-20 5k and a marathon by age 21 or at least before age 22 (that seemed like an eternity away). Well, that has certainly passed, and so has a good chunk of prime running years. I don’t know if the first goal is possible but the second one sure is. That’s not the problem, though.
As with running, I’ve noticed how I neglect goal-making in other areas. I hesitate to “dream big” or create elaborate plans. Do we lose our youthful sense of possibility as we age? Or does reality kick in a little too hard? Or maybe it’s just me, not we.
All I’ve ever learned about setting goals insists that you must simultaneously be realistic and challenging. But what if our sense of realistic has shriveled?
Though it’s been said before, I’ll say it again: At one point, most people thought it impossible to break the 4:00 barrier in the mile.
I invite you to join me in dreaming and resisting the temptation to settle. Here is a tool that may prove helpful:
The Lighter Side: Gender, Women’s Magazines, and Marriage
This week I’ve been researching magazine markets. During my day designated for women’s magazine, I perused Glamour’s website and found this: a newly married man writing about marriage for a women’s magazine. I rarely read women’s magazines (nothing against them), but it was interesting, especially because I am also newly married (coming up on six months). Although his world is different from mine, I noticed some similar experiences. And since I’ve been married for almost six months, I started thinking about the transition from the single life to the married one.
The “h” word is still strange to me. I have a particular aversion to the word “woman,” and doubt I’ll ever feel comfortable calling myself that. And, although I have nothing against the name, and yes, I did choose to take it, I have a hard time saying my married name. Even with this blog, I can’t get used to it. (At a recent race, when asked for my name at the check in table, I couldn’t get it out, and had to show them my membership card instead.) I like my maiden name. I don’t want to get used to a new one. But after a lot of thinking, I figured unity in name (not to mention avoiding confusion) mattered more to me than retaining my old one. And don’t get me started on the “Mrs.” prefix. No wonder so many adult women insist on being called by their first name.