So this came in the mail today. It looks like three digits and a decimal point, right? No, it’s more than that.
It’s the miles I did for training. (574+ including race day)
It’s the sum of the mornings I got up pre-dawn for a long run.
It’s the runs I did after work, trying to fit in the training miles when time was a commodity I didn’t have.
It’s the gallons of water I drank, and the pounds of healthy food I ate to get my body ready.
It’s the number of running shoes I went through on all those training runs. Only one pair went with me to the race. The rest gave their all to get me there.
It’s the number of times I thought, “What was I thinking? I can’t do this.” (Some said on race day.)
It’s the number of times I thought I was crazy.
It’s the number of times I felt invincible.
I still can’t believe it’s real. I earned this. I worked for it, and it’s mine. Someone can steal my car or my magnet or (God forbid) my medal, but no one can take from me the knowledge that I did it. And I can do it again.
NYC Marathon, you got next.