I laced up my first pair of running shoes a little more than six years ago. That seems like such a long time from today. I've told this story a thousand times - I needed to lose the baby weight and get my ass into some sort of gear other than neutral. Who really knew I'd make it this far? Certainly not I; I never really believed in myself.
I said before that I might live in Pennsylvania, but my heart is in New York City. It's been a long while since I really rocked NYC; I spent about (ha) six years of my life on Staten Island and made several hundred trips to the city via the ferry. I used to know my way around certain parts of the city; I found joy getting lost in others.
About three months post my first run I set a future goal, a lofty goal. I would run the New York City Marathon. It took a few years for me to really get behind the idea of running a marathon.
So here I am.
Nine days away from the NYC Marathon.
I feel my face light up when I'm asked about the race.
I'm a little nervous about the logistics of navigating the city for an expo, the start and the eventual finish surrounded by 50,000 participants. I could explode thinking about the pace needed to hit my goal time and I'm skittish about the weather possibilities (please don't be bitter cold, please don't be bitter cold - damn, it's going to suck going over those bridges if it's windy).
But, again, here I am, with a giant smile on my face counting down the days until I'm back in the city kicking ass and taking names.