I ran the half marathon.
Imagine that just after this photo was taken, I let out a blood-curdling scream of joy because I felt exactly like this.
I ran 13.1 miles. And I was really happy the whole time.
Why? Because I reached a goal I’ve been pondering for almost two years, one that I’ve been somewhat obsessed with, and it feels GREAT. In fact, I’ve been riding a massive runner’s high for the past 24 hours.
During the two hour drive home afterward, Pete and I were talking about the race and processing the experience together. He asked me if I have any upcoming races, and I told him, “No. I’ve thought about it, but right now, I don’t feel like I have anything to prove.”
And I don’t. If I never run another 10-miler or half marathon again, I’ll be fine with that. I might run those distances again, but right now I have no plans, no goals. And I’m sure as shit not running a full marathon. Ever.
I’m going to take this week off from running. Go for some walks. Ride poor Bubbles, who has been horribly neglected this summer. Maybe do a little yoga. Definitely work in the garden, which is jungle-esque in its need for weeding.
And when I’m ready to run again, I will. But I won’t worry about distances or time. I’ll just run because it makes me happy.