I think that I have officially become insane. Not so much for signing up for the marathon, but rather because I’m not freaking out. In fact, I’m not even nervous. I have no doubt in my mind that I will finish. I’m calm, cool, and collected about the whole thing–excited to go, I know every mile will be worth my while even if I don’t cover them quickly.

And that, boys and girls, is why I’m completely insane.

There’s no guarantee I’ll finish. None. And my entire 27 years of life and constant glass half empty attitude points to my not finishing. To my not starting. A year ago, I never would’ve thought I could do this and here I am feeling good about my marathon. The time won’t be great, it won’t be easy, but I can go the distance. I will go the distance. Maybe it’s because not finishing is just not an option after so many people told me I couldn’t do it. My mind is set, it’s done. I’ve put in the hours, the miles, and it all boils down to this one day and these 26.2 miles.

Who is this freakish person I’ve become? I don’t even recognize myself. My neurotic old self wherever you went… you can stay there.


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