On Failure


I just told you that I failed to complete a marathon.

I feel like I need to tell you that I’m okay with it. Really.

I trained. I fought. I did my best. It wasn’t enough. Oh well.

Once I realized that I had failed, I actually had some fun. I talked to other runners on the course. I ran down Fremont Street and gave high fives to little kids. I smiled at tweakers who were cheering for me.

Some guy said, “You got this, girl.”

I said, “You’re goddamn right I do.”

I don’t even know what that means.

I do know that I enjoyed my marathon training. I enjoyed meeting new people. I enjoyed the race. And I am so overwhelmed by all the love and support in my life. It’s corny. I don’t give a shit. Life feels pretty good, right now.

And I will try again.

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