Blame the wine.

I just applied for a spot in the 2010 NY Marathon. What the hell am I thinking? It's admission by lottery so I won't know until March if we're (Beth applied too) in, but yikes! What if? I would do another marathon? The plan only called for ONE. Philly. Done. Move on.

I'm blaming the wine. Clearly too much of it has addled my brain and obscured reasonable thinking.

Do I even like running? I mean, honestly? I like my thighs more now that they've put in almost 400 miles. I like my brain on most days after I run. But training again? What have I done? I guess I don't need to worry about it just yet seeing as I have several months before I even know if I'm accepted. For now I'll just run and feel joy and relax.

Maybe I'll have another glass of wine.

Done.

I did it. I ran a marathon in 5 hours, 33 minutes and 11 seconds. I wasn't fast. I wasn't as strong as I would have liked, but at no point did it occur to me that I wouldn't finish. I was there to do 26.2 miles. Period.

So why do I feel so deflated today? Where's that euphoria that accompanies the accomplishment of a goal? I've been working toward this event steadily since August. It felt like I was in the right place on the road yesterday. I felt good. Tonight I just feel kind of "meh." Where is my endorphin high? I earned it. I should be floating.

Or not. Maybe because I expected it, I couldn't have it. Maybe in trying to chase happiness, it eluded me. Maybe I'm thinking about this way too much.

So now what? Another goal? No. I need to absorb this one. Give me a couple of days to gain some perspective.

I am a llama. I am a runner. I am a marathoner. I am.

9 hours 16 minutes 33 seconds--Powerhouse and Hammer are ready.

In about 9 hours I will run my first marathon.
What audacity.
Me.
A marathon.

I have logged 338.45 miles run since Saturday, August 1. I have acquired two pairs of sneakers, multiple tanks, shorts, socks (both lucky and less-lucky) and tees (two of which were earned at races), a really nice set of bruises from my fall, a really cool GPS unit, a hat, one bout with poison ivy, and a love of running that I never would have imagined I had the capacity to embrace. All this from a book.

I am a runner. I run because I am strong, I am confident, and I am fit. I run because I can.

And tomorrow I will say that I am a runner because I entered, I trained, and I finished.

Counting down.

This afternoon is my last run before Sunday's marathon. It's hard to believe that it's here-- August doesn't seem that long ago yet it's been a lifetime in terms of preparation. I'm excited, nervous, but somehow believe that I can do this. It's something I'm supposed to complete. I don't know how or why I feel this way, but that's been a feeling buried in the back of my mind since I decided to undertake this challenge.

It's bedtime. I ran my final 3-miler tonight. I've gone from a 1/4 mile to 20, from 14+ minutes to just under 11. I have a 3-mile walk scheduled for Saturday and then 26.2 miles on Sunday. Am I ready? I have to be.

To do or not to do.

I am sitting here drinking my hot cocoa and thinking about what matters. All day I've been considering priorities and choices. Why do we choose what we choose? How do we decide what matters most?

I think this is on my mind because of my struggle with routine. Entering the marathon and then training for it forced me to organize my time and plan so that I could "fit" running into my world. What will happen once the race is over? Will I still have that dedication? I feel good when I run; I feel better when I'm finished. I know this now. I like feeling like I've accomplished something positive for even a small part of my day. I like that running makes me feel like I have control over my time, my body, and my brain.

But why is it so difficult to continue doing that which is good for me? What else could I accomplish if I applied the strategy from this training to other aspects of my life? Why is it so difficult to jettison habits like procrastination and stubbornness that are counterproductive and wasteful?

As always there are more questions then answers.

Start again.

How come just when I understand how it feels to be happy it disappears? Just slips away and I have to go out seeking it again and of course, that's not the way to find happiness. It will appear when it's darn good and ready.

Or that's how it feels anyway.

I'm up. I'm down. I'm running in joy. I'm struggling to get out of bed. What's the deal? I thought I'd undergone a total transformation. I was on my way to decisive confidence and self-love. (I mean hell, I wrote a love letter to my thighs.) But tonight I'm wallowing again in these feelings of unworthiness and disappointment. Why? What will it take for me to be happy?

I will review what I'm thankful for before I go to sleep tonight. I will start again tomorrow and invite joy.

The day after.

I ran twenty miles yesterday.
Wait. Let me repeat that.
I ran twenty miles yesterday.
I ran twenty miles and today I feel great. I'm not sore. I'm not tired. I'm happy. It's such a strange sensation-- I feel relaxed and just happy.

Yesterday was the last of the long runs. Alan came along on his bike and carried my water, Gatorade and snacks. (He also provided the entertainment.)

From here on out it's a rapid decrease in order to build to the final increase. It seems too soon to taper off, but I am going to trust The Book.

If I feel this good after running twenty, how good will I feel after 26.2?