[Me, Sweet Husband, and our Nice Running Friend, before and after the Kansas Half Marathon. Pictures by Nice Running Friend's Nice Wife who sat the day out today, but put all the other cheerleaders to shame.]
Fun tidbit about me: I cry at sports movies. Like, when the underdog starts to surge from behind, or the kid who doesn't know which direction first base is hits a home run. Yeah, that chokes me up.
Also, during long races or especially grueling training runs, there's always this moment--half a heart beat after my brain registers, "Woah, I'm actually gonna finish this thing"--that I have to gulp back a little sob of joy. I often wonder if my running partners think I'm having a spasm, but I try to be discreet. In any event, at the half marathon Sweet Husband and I did last fall, that moment came as I passed mile 12. Today, it snuck up on me somewhere near mile 2. Suffice to say, there's a big difference between hoping you can finish and knowing that you can.
And now, my feet are sore and my booty is sore-er, but I'm raring to go for the rest of the races I have planned this year. I'm looking forward to a few months of learning to ride my bike again as I do some fun practice for a short-course triathlon with some friends in June. And then--and I've been purposely quiet about this so far, but today feels like a good day to shout it out--I'm going for the full-marathon-enchilada next fall. The cautious part of my brain can think of a million reasons not to, but, really, when do I pay attention to stuff like that?