TIRED

Something very strange happened yesterday at the end of my run.

I was struggling. I didn't take my Advil early enough to kick in before I started running, so my legs were killing from the get-go. Plus, somehow, the route I chose was uphill both ways. Not sure how that happened. And I tripped while I was crossing the street. I caught myself before I hit the pavement but it hurt my ankle.

So I was on the way back, it was about to start raining and I was mad at how long it had taken me to run the first 3 miles. I was not trying very hard, just trotting along like dead weight. Not impressive. So I cranked it up to one of my favorite songs and took off.

Once I got to the last half-mile stretch of the run, I started thinking about what crossing the finish line is going to feel like. I pretended that the trash cans and mailboxes lining the street were my family and friends, lining the course to cheer me on, and that the finish line was the end of the sidewalk where I turn onto my street.

I was so into that visualization (sorry, 10th grade Bible class teacher) that when I jumped off the sidewalk curb onto my street, I burst into tears.

I'll blame it partially on being tired and partially on being stressed out (antsy, if you will) about something totally unrelated to running. But it happened nonetheless, and on my cooldown walk down my street and around my cul-de-sac, I was crying like a fool.

I called my mom after I showered and put on PJs and told her about my little spontaneous cry, to which she said, "I'll cry with you but if you start throwing up I'm outta there." I told her I make no guarantees.

I guess I'm just ready for the marathon to be here. Maybe I'm not physically ready yet, but mentally I am ready to get this over with. I'm tired of asking for money. I miss sleeping in on Saturdays. I am over having to make my weekend plans around my runs. And most of all I am ready for the satisfaction of accomplishing something I never ever thought I could.