I’m going to run a marathon before I die. It’s been decided. I’ve placed it on my unofficial “List of Things To Do Before I Die.” And I say this is the “unofficial” list because I think “official” listings of things to do before one dies are slightly pathetic and actually quite cliched. So unofficially, I plan to do this. It’s official.

This is the point that I should mention that I hate running, and also that I cannot convey with enough passion or emphasis just how much I hate running. So between you and I, let it be simply known that me and running are never going to coexist as well as, perhaps “music and I” or even “any non-chafing or sweaty thing and I.” Yet I still plan to run a marathon. Even if it is the cause of my death, thus terminating any item below it on the aforementioned, unofficial list.

The reason that I want to run a marathon is that I think it’s probably the worst thing I could do to myself, of my own free will. I’m a enthusiastic believer in habituation. Ergo, I want to be able to do something that I loathe more than anything else on this Earth, enough times, over and painfully over, until I can complete a final task so unimaginable to me prior to the process of habituation, that it becomes seemingly trivial. Still with me? No? Great!

I am a weak, terrible person. I annoy myself to no end and wish I could purge all the terrible flaws and foibles taking residence inside my personality. The only way that I was able to conceive of doing this, years ago, was through habituation. My “Philosophy and Ethics 101” course in undergrad actually taught me something. Thanks Dr. Polt! And while I could list rather extensively the things that annoy me about me, I won’t. Because that would be annoying. Instead, I’ve tried over the past 10 years or so to place myself in situations that force a face-to-face reckoning with those weaknesses that I abhor most about myself. I think it actually works.

I don’t want to complain. I don’t want to be a sniveling, action-less and infantile grouse. So I play the opposite game. Fearful of a hard day’s labor? Deliver steel and drywall for 13 hours a day for two summers and learn what it’s actually like. Afraid that you’re physically indolent? Force yourself into a grueling and rigorous exercise routine for 5 years. Perhaps you even dislike the taste of most “healthy” foods. Eat ‘em until you realize that sometimes taste isn’t the most important factor in choosing your diet.

In a way so devoid of self-righteousness and callous condescension, I think this is healthy for me. I’m hard on myself because I deserve it. I need it. The only glitch is that I need to learn to not extend those unrealistic expectations to encompass others. The height of the bar that I set for my own self cannot automatically be transfered to anyone else, as it is unfair, rude and will ultimately be the cause of many arguments.

So while my unofficial list of “things to do before I die” does not contain fun things like “dance through puddles in Trafalgar Square,” or “take a gondola ride in Italy,” it doesn’t mean that I’m a total square. My aspirations to run a marathon or build my own house by hand are those which I hope will only make me a better person, more able to enjoy all the truly fun things in life along the way. Otherwise I’ll just be the same annoying dolt who’s been to a few neat places. And that would both unofficially and officially suck.

Guess I better lace up my running shoes…