365 mile Courtney

With my very first half marathon looming, I had some extra motivation to drag my sleepy butt out of bed this morning. I ran my very first mile in February of this year, at the tender age of 35. Around that time, I also found a website called Moon Joggers. The site hosts virtual races and features a log that lets you record your mileage. When you sign up, you are asked to choose how far you plan to run that year. Selecting the "introductory" level of 365 miles, I signed up, having not a clue how far that really was.
I began to chip away at it, usually 3 or 4 miles at a time. I've dealt with shin splints, blisters, bruised ankles, chafing, sore muscles...you name it. But something amazing happened this morning. I knew after my ten mile run two weeks ago that I was getting close. After that run my left hip began to hurt, and I was forced to shorten some workouts and skip a couple altogether. So I woke up this morning knowing that I only had three more measly miles to go. Three more miles standing between me and 365.
 My youngest child snuck into bed with us about midnight, and when the alarm went off this morning the last thing I wanted to do was get out of my warm bed with that precious sleeping child in it. But there they were, those three miles. Taunting me. Daring me to get up and get them out of the way.
I stumbled into the bathroom and put on my favorite gray running pants. I took the time to look in the mirror, just as I always do when I put on my running clothes. It's not out of vanity, it's an effort to convince myself that I really do look different than when I started running. As I have said before, I figure I ought to weigh about 98 pounds by now, which I certainly do not. I also came to an important realization about my gray pants. They should never be worn in public for any reason. Between the fact that they outline every inch of my dimply butt in great detail (which is definitely a bad thing) and the lovely camel toe in the front, you can rest assured that if you see me wearing these pants anywhere other than on my treadmill it is because I am there against my will. Add to that the fact that after my thighs sweat it looks like I've peed on myself. Definitely not the look you want to put out there for the world to see! (You're welcome for the visual imagery provided here. I see you smiling.)
 So I got on that stupid treadmill and did it. Aching hip and all, I got through those last three miles. I have to say that reaching that goal was a ridiculously satisfying feeling. There was no fanfare. The heavens didn't open, and I didn't magically fit into my "skinny" jeans after I was done. But there was that voice in my head, the one that normally casts all sorts of doubt on any major undertaking, and today I forced it to say, "I DID IT."