...and that has nothing to do with 'tough' or 'tits' or anything else you're thinking. It is an acronym--aren't we all all about acronyms these days--for Training To End Stroke. Catchy, no?
Other major fundraising groups sponsor marathons; the American Stroke Association trains you to run/walk one.
So how is it that this particular group landed such a die-hard marathoner as moi? Well, you know that ruptured cerebral aneurysm I had six years ago? That was, medically speaking, a stroke. I didn't accept it at the time. When someone somewhere in the bowels of Cedars Sinai Hospital who was doing yet another something to me, dared to call me a stroke victim, "Hell no," I shot back. "I've had a Ruptured Cerebral Aneurysm."
"Yeah," said technician answered. "Same thing."
I didn't argue out loud because, well, for one, I had a multitude of tubes and stuff poking in and out of various natural and man-made orifices. But in my mind--which never stopped working, thank you very much--I thought, No way. Strokes are what old people have, and I'm not old.
So why now am I willing to cop to it? For one, it is six years later and I have matured (although I'm still not old!). But also, well, also it just seemed time for me to train for something.
I am, as I've always made clear, a complete doofus when it comes to things physical. I don't swim because going in a pool makes one wet. I don't play sports, because they make one sweat. And I don't do exercise, because it's just so damned tedious.
Ten, twenty years ago, this was funny. Today, it's pathetic. So in a last gasp effort to master my recalcitrant body, I have signed on to Walk A Marathon in May. I shall be collecting pledges (which means I shall be hitting everyone up). I shall be out in the elements between now and then training. And I shall here be monitoring my every effort.
And won't that be a kick in the pants for those who enjoy watching others suffer....