If the government does add licenses for runners, I'm apparently mentally ready

I have no idea whether this makes me normal or abnormal, but even though I'm a runner in my waking life, I almost never dream about running.

Last winter was the first time I could remember having a running-related dream that wasn't the short tripping-and-falling one that jerks me awake when I thud to the ground ... i.e., when I roll over in my sleep and jolt myself awake (doesn't mean it hasn't happened, of course).

That dream was an unpleasant one. It took me nearly a year, but I've had another one, this time more uplifting: My college roomie Ally and her husband, AJ, were visiting me at my parents' house, as were a whole bunch of other people.

Instead of socializing, though, AJ and I began examining a map/diagram as he explained the training program he'd lead me through so that I could get my running license. We all have snarky thoughts on what people should be required to prove before they're allowed to run, such as that they can tolerate it without playing music at ambulance-masking levels, but in this instance it seemed to be related to actual physical skill.

In real life, AJ is a serious runner who's making the leap to triathlons, so if there were such a thing as a running license and if it required serious training effort, AJ would be a smart choice to prepare me.

Mostly my dreams aren't worth analyzing — just a jumble of people and places I know, mixed up and out of order — and this is no exception.

I am, however, glad to recall that the idea of training for a big event (there were lots of markers on this map thingie) didn't frighten me in my dream: It was intimidating, but exciting.

No vague, subconscious negative association with running this time around!

Triathlon before age 30? Technically and maybe ...

I don't remember exactly when or why the idea "do a triathlon before you're 30!" popped into my head. (I'm sure Runner's World deserves some of the credit/blame.)

It's been at least a year, though, since it crossed my mind, and even with ample warning, I still didn't manage to do my hometown's annual duathlon in the spring. Weird work schedule blah blah blah, I told those who called me out on it.

The true barriers to achieving this goal, though, are my poor swimming skills and refusal to pay for access to a pool.

Enter some college besties with a brilliant solution: "Let's do the Hy-Vee Triathlon next year as a relay team," they said as they showered me and my cat with housewarming gifts.

A shortcut to a bucket list item? Even better than catnip/shiny items/fleece blankies/fluffy new towels!

Chelsea can swim the 1.5K, because Zach sinks like a stone and I dislike getting my face wet and struggling to breathe (completely different from having my face merely damp from sweat and struggling to breathe).

I can run the 10K, because Chelsea and Zach, despite having completed the Warrior Dash with me in 2011 and pounding the pavement like champs during heat waves, hate running.

Zach can bike the 25K, by process of elimination.

And I can ironically call myself a triathlete before age 30 — with three years to spare, even.