We gather together at an ungodly hour to reenact the original 26.2 miles run by Pheidippides which, fun fact, he wound up dropping dead from.
I finally understood the myth of Sisyphus when my son was diagnosed with a brain tumor two years ago. And like the legend, we were faced with a huge mountain, a massive, incomprehensible rock, and a job that no one would ever sign up for.
I’m not sure when the transformation occurred, so it must have happened slowly. But a few weeks ago, when I went to Vegas to run in the Rock ‘n Roll Marathon, my friends decided I was an athlete. I’m not.
If you would have asked me a few months ago if I could get out of bed at 5AM I would have laughed. I could go TO bed at 5AM. But waking up? Not a chance.
You would think that running would be a natural sort of progression from, you know, walking. It turns out that running is in a completely different world. And having gotten it into my head that I am running a half-marathon in January, that little tidbit took me by surprise.