Today was race day. Over 20,000 people woke up this morning with their minds set on accomplishing one very lofty goal. They wanted to, and mostly succeeded at, run one of the most difficult 26.2 mile courses in the world. I've always admired these people for their dedication and athleticism.
But I also always thought they were crazy.
I've decided that the human body is not made to run 26.2 miles. I've been so convinced of this that I've railed on about how the human body actually rejects such a feat. And then I go on to list the ways in which the body revolts. It's not pretty.
Today, I stood at Mile Marker 19, the marker directly before Heartbreak Hill, in absolute awe. It's true there were people limping, going slower than they likely had at the start of the race. Some were obviously already injured. And then there was everyone else. They were doing great. Energetic and maybe even having the time of their life. One girl was on her phone, talking as if she were in Starbucks... but she was at Mile Marker 19.
And after all my years of railing on about how crazy these people are, how the human body was not made to do this, I sort of wanted to run. Or at least was jealous of all of these people. Their commitment, of their ability to want something great, actually go after it, and achieve it.