“Because 26.3 would be crazy!”

That’s what several of the signs said towards the end. The whole idea is certifiable if you ask me, but I did it. I ran my very first marathon!

Last November.

Here it is January and I’m just now blogging about it. I probably would have just let it go, but hardly a day goes by that Brad doesn’t give me a hard time about it. “You accomplished a HUGE goal!” he says. “You deserve to pat yourself on the back!”

He’s right. And I did pat myself on the back. I might not have talked a lot about it (I couldn’t. I just moaned in agony every time I moved), but I did wear my finishers medal around town for like a week. I let it do the talking for me.

We got back in town only a week before the race which means I trained for the whole thing on the road. Let me just say that I DO NOT recommend this! Traveling (especially with kids) is stressful enough on it’s own, but when you have to figure out where to get a 16 or 18 mile run in that just brings it to a whole new level. On the plus side, I trained in some incredibly beautiful places. I mean check this out:

Coincidentally, Dooce ran her first marathon the next day in New York. When I read about her experience I laughed so hard I cried. I felt the exact same way and spent the second half of the race debating which was more painful: the marathon or an unmedicated birth. The last 10 miles WOULD NOT END! I’m pretty sure I walked the last 6. Or crawled. I’m not sure. It was all a delirious, painful blur.

I sat next to a woman on the shuttle who had run 79 (!!!) marathons. She told me that once you cross that finish line you’ll know whether or not you’ll do it again.

Guess what. I’m going to do it again.

I’m crazy like that.

(BTW for those of you wondering, natural labor is FAR MORE PAINFUL, but the reward at the end is way better than any dinky little medal.)