If you're wondering where I've been, I've been recovering from a god-awful trip to East coast, followed by 26.2 miles of voluntary suffering (why do I keep signing up for these things?!).
I'll post about my trip later (I did buy a new hat, go me).
Let's focus on the good part. That's sad that dragging my ass across 26 miles of hot, dusty trails is the GOOD part. The trip was really THAT bad.
Anyway... I ran a whole marathon at my 5k pace, I kid you not. And I did it with a training plan where I only ran 30-35 miles per week, by the way. I shaved 40 minutes off my marathon finish time by running LESS than I did for my previous marathons. I was lightning fast (by my standards). If I shave another 8 minutes and 3 seconds off my finish time, I QUALIFY FOR MOTHER FUCKING BOSTON. (For those of you who don't run, qualifying to run the Boston Marathon is when you've basically "made it" as a runner). I know what my next goal is. I actually told myself this was going to be my last marathon, but now I can't. I will qualify for Boston (though I give zero fucks about actually running in it). Watch me do it. I will be frolicking over that finish line like a majestic boston-qualifying gazelle.
I completed the training, I logged my miles, and I ran my victory lap.
It's at the finish line that I remember why I keep signing up for this crazy struggle-fest... On the other side of that line, is the version of me that is forced to remember, in spite of my darkest moments of self-doubt, that I am so much stronger than I give myself credit for. And that all struggles eventually end, and at the end of it all, I will still stand tall and smile. I will conquer everything and and it won't destroy me.
I am unbreakable.