humble pie.

I ran a marathon on Saturday. Twenty-six-point-two-miles. But before that, I trained- for three and a half months. An-entire-summer. On Friday I went to sleep with dreams of running the race like a boss... but  Saturday morning came and the race aced me. At mile fourteen I asked myself questions like "Please let this be over?" or "For the love, when can I stop running?" And then my heart started palpitating to no apparent rhythm, and I had shooting pains down my right arm. I'm chalking it up to anxiety- because I'm still alive. But for the LOVE, I could have not trained a single step and perhaps ran all of the twenty six point two miles faster than I did on Saturday. 

At mile twenty-two, whatever was slowing me down, completely left, and I ran as fast as my fatigued legs would allow. Which was, of course, a blessing from The-Good-Heavens-Above. Had it not happened, I might still be on the course. Today. This very minute. With no orange cones to guard me from traffic- or the traffic from me. 

However, now that I've put two days between the race and myself, I recognize there was good in Saturday's heaping portion of humble pie. First: Erikboy asked me if I won the marathon- and I told him yes. And now he thinks I'm a superhero. Second: I annihilated some demons. (Demons: noun, False little ideas that hang around in people's heads.) And Third: I smooched Squish's face at mile sixteen, or seventeen, or eighteen. (They all blurred together...) Which is something I have never, ever done in any previous marathon I have ever run. Ever. It was a joy. 

Afterwards I talked with my sisters. They'd had a difficult race experience as well, (though arguably better) and we tried to analyze what exactly went wrong. We never came up with a single conclusion- as that would be impossible. Instead we decided... it had been an entire collection of factors. Which means I learned, once again, that sometimes everything works out and sometimes everything does not. 

But it all turns out okay.