Courage

I'm not sure how to start this post. I don't want to sound egotistical or come off as a person that toots their own horn (no, not that horn, the other one). But I do want to share my story with you. It's the story of courage.

Somehow, by the grace of something bigger than me (an elephant maybe?) I have summoned the spirit to go on. The spirit of courage. The spirit of the half marathon. I know, I know, you're thinking "how is this possible? She is injured, she can't possibly still compete in the half marathon!" I beg to differ. And when I say "beg" I mean that in a non-verbal, non on my knees way. I've got to preserve my knees you know...don't want another injury.

Literally and metaphorically I have cleansed my soul/sole. I washed that bloody sock and now use it as a flag. A slightly rust colored flag. I wave this flag with pride at my accomplishments and future endeavors. Not literally of course, it would look a little weird to see a chick waving a dirty athletic sock; but figuratively. Emotionally. Spiritually.

I have found the courage to go on. The courage lives in me like a tapeworm lives in someone's lower intestines. It's eating away at me and makes me feel hungry...hungry for more running.
Oh, and I also found some Band-Aids. Helpful little buggers those are.

Okay, enough is enough. I'm still running. Haven't missed a day. I enjoy it ever so slightly. Nothing will stop me from running this race. Well, unless I get a horrible case of Amoebic Dysentery the night before the big run. That causes bloody diarrhea, ya know.

Moving right along. I ran 4 miles on Saturday. DyLon met me at my destination (The Bagelry) with a water bottle, a sweatshirt, my purse (it looked good on him), and a kiss. Don't need much more than that. Except for maybe a Havarti bagel sandwich, which I scarfed down.

All is well in the training world. I'm finding my groove and getting more and more confident that I can do it.

I can do it, ya know. I've got courage...and about 4 more dress sizes to lose.