It is a Marathon, not a Sprint.

On Sunday, October 18th I am running my 23rd half marathon.

That number feels exponentially high considering how rough some of the double-digit training runs feel on my kneecaps.

Regardless, I do not take any of those finish lines for granted. Each of those medals represents a chapter in my book.

This summer I got to run a half marathon in Charlevoix, MI on my birthday, turning thirty-three during mile six!

Other races have not gone so pleasantly.

During the Chicago spring half marathon in 2019, I acquired heat stroke and passed out post-race.

Another time I fell a minimum of six times during the North Country Trail Run in Wellston, MI. I waltzed across the finish line covered in blood and mud.

You might be thinking “Is it really worth it?” or “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

Those are great questions. On days when it is 90 degrees I do want to quit, but then I remember to pace myself. I am doing this because I love it.

I remind myself that it is one mile at a time, and each of those are a gift, regardless of my pace.

There are things in life that we cannot control, such as the weather. Other variables we can confront, like being prepared with layered clothing.

Regardless of the weather or my pace on Sunday, I am grateful to be toeing another start line, and each mile that has brought me there.