26.2 love.

Every marathon I've run has started with a controlled anxiety attack: yes, today will definitely be THE day my heart explodes. It's a really weird thing to think and worry about, but it's all just part of the routine for me. Every marathon I've run, up until this weekend's, has ended with the mantra "just finish and you never ever ever have to do this to yourself again".

I woke up before the alarm at 4:30am Sunday with the usual pre race "oh my poor heart" jitters. Though I still had no goal, and still had no idea what was a realistic expectation in my current fitness, I had decided days before to put my happy cap on, run comfortably, try my best not to let the clock get me down, and enjoy the experience.

I had a complete and total blast.

Over 26.2 miles I made friends, ran through steady pouring rain, splashed in puddles, ate (and enjoyed!?) gu....and vanilla sandwich cookies...and a milky way. My stomach never became upset. My legs never stiffened up. I never once said to myself "just finish this...".

I finished in 3:21:27 elated, feeling wonderful. To put it in perspective, I've run three marathons in the last 18 months attempting to squeak in under my pr of 3:09:30. Boston '10 - a painful 3:12, Wineglass '10 - an excruciating 3:12, Boston '11 - a 3:11 that hurt so badly "just get through this..." didn't even begin to cut it.

9 minutes. Roughly nine minutes over the course of 26.2 miles is all that separates running hell and running utopia. Should I feel a bit deflated now knowing that I've put myself through so many hells when heaven was only roughly 20 seconds a mile behind me the whole time?

I don't regret those failed PR attempts though. Those runs that left me all hunched, cobbled, shuffling, crying, and deflated. Nothing attempted, nothing gained. But Sunday's 26.2 was a breath of fresh air. A reminder of how great an experience the marathon can be. And a big reminder of how lucky I am. To have my health; legs, lungs, and (gulp) heart, that allow me to run 7:42 pace for over 26 miles and love every footfall of it. And the best running friends in existence, who I missed sorely Sunday mornings during my running funk of summer 2011 and I am excited to get back and training with! And family who stand in whatever elements the day has to offer to cheer me on. And a husband who not only supports, but encourages and shares (exudes!) this crazy habit.

Next up: Boston 2012. The plan: friend making, puddle jumping, vanilla sandwich cookie eating? Shuffling, moaning, failed PR attempt #4? PR setting, ass kicking extravaganza? TBD. For now, I'm just thrilled to have mended my broken relationship with the marathon.