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.