Every time I think about what it will feel like to cross the finish line on Saturday, I cry. These past three months, training for my first half marathon with the best friends and inspiring, no nonsense coaches a girl could asked for, have been some of the very best days of my entire life. I’m not even kidding or exaggerating.
I’ve tried to write before how much this whole running thing means to me, but I don’t have the words. Saying I’m proud of myself doesn’t really convey what I mean. Saying that I’ve worked hard doesn’t come close to describing what “work” and “hard” mean. Aside from the two moments that I gave birth, there is nothing that comes close to the feeling of accomplishment that I feel for having come this far.
In less than 24 hours it will all be over and I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. I’m going to miss getting up at 6 am on a Saturday morning to run with my girls. I’m going to miss our long talks and the laughing and the breakfast afterwards.
I guess I better start planning for my next race.
I wrote some running tips for people who want to get started running over at my Babble blog, Southern By Proxy. Totally unrelated, I also wrote about how much I hate the school car line. Feel free to commiserate. It’s therapeutic.