After my half marathon, I asked Rachel how on earth people did marathons. Her response?
"You sign up for one and realize that a do-not-finish is lame."
I should note that I've since signed up for a marathon and am using this no-nonsense approach in my training. On Tuesday, I ran out into Provo Canyon. I planned to do a 14-miler — 7 in, 7 out. (Running math is easy and, unlike accounting, quite logical.)
Well, I got to seven and just felt good. It was a beautiful day, the air in the canyon was crisp, I was far removed from cars and the river was good company. I kept going.
I got to eight, the same distance I ran last time. I told myself to turn around. I didn't. Adrenaline gives a pretty rockin' high, and while this was a different rush than skydiving, it was still dang awesome. I told myself I'd turn around before the next park.
On a side note, you can lie to yourself. I do it running all the time.
Nine miles out. I still felt good, but at this point I had to face two realities: 1) if I kept going, it was about to get really steep, and 2) I had nine miles left to go to get home. I turned around.
18 miles and some blood and sweat after walking out my front door, I was home. I was tired. I could barely walk. Bending over hurt. My upstairs bedroom may as well have been Mt. Everest.
But if I can do 18, I can do 20, and if I can do 20, I can do 26, and if I can do a marathon — well, I can say I've run a marathon. Does life get sweeter?
Yes, yes it does, about five weeks after the marathon, when I will board a plane that leaves Houston and arrives in Frankfurt, Germany. I'm going home!