My co-worker ran a marathon today. Not a ten-miler. Not a Half. Twenty-six-point-two. Five hours, fifty-five minutes of running, of which everything after the first thirty or so minutes was just tolerating the pain. And she finished.
I’d love to feel the elation of running that last mile, crossing the timing mats and stopping.
Some say that by the time you reach the start line the race is half-done. That’s because the training is half the struggle. It becomes a part-time job, adding miles above your comfort zone every other day until you top out at twenty miles. And then you add a ten-K to that on race day.
So hats-off to her. Her sore body will heal in a few days. Then she can say, “I did that.”