This is equal parts accomplishment and disappointment. Exhaustion and fire. 3:11:25.0 in my first #marathon, my first race, seems like a cause for celebration. But I cried that night. I cried because I did not meet my own expectations. I cried because I don't like the taste of failure. I cried because I had crossed something off of my #bucketlist and added a few more items to it. I cried because my legs hurt and because I wanted a mulligan. -------------------
I #run because I love it. I love the challenge, the time to think, the ability to set goals and literally chase them down. It is cathartic. I pray. I lay my anger, my depression down on the pavement. I stomp out insecurities. I think and I observe. I see the me of two years ago and I see progress. I also see where I have failed over the last two years, and I know that there is a lot of work still to be done - as a husband, a father, a business owner, a son, a brother, a friend, a runner, etc. I want to be better. I want to run the race with endurance and finish well. I want to do hard things that feel impossible I want to run all six world majors before I die, simply because it feels impossible. (And because I think my wife might enjoy traveling to a few new spots) And if I don't do it, I don't want it to be for a lack of trying. ------- This is also how I landed myself in the medical tent. I was so tired of being upright though.