So I thought I was done. I worked hard, I crossed the finish line, and I successfully checked it off my bucket list.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I tried to push it out of my mind by focusing on the worst aspects. Remember how gross your feet looked? Remember how boring your weekends were? Remember losing all small talk skills and blabbering on endlessly about negative splits? None of it helped. I still felt pangs of envy when I’d hear about friends training or when I’d see strangers in marathon shirts. I wanted back in the club.
Portland Marathon, here we come.
My weekends for the next five months are booked, and I couldn’t be happier. This time around, I’m starting with open eyes. I know what I’ve signed on for. There will be no delusions of grandeur; I accept the bad with the good. Bring on the aches. Bring on the pains. I’ll take it all quite literally in stride.
It’s not a romantic process, but I love it, I missed it, and I’m ready to do it all again.
