I had a friend run the New York Marathon last weekend.  She did great, and with the app (which was awesome, btw), I was able to track her every step.  As she approached 26, and I knew that she only had the .2 to go, I felt my heart start to beat faster and faster as I replayed scenes from the last bit of the Chicago Marathon in my head.  When she finished, and her bubble disappeared from the tracker, I let out a sigh of relief – I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath – and shot her a quick text.  She was done, and she’d done it well!

As I chatted with her about how good she’d felt that day, I really got excited about the prospect of possibly doing Chicago again in the fall of next year.  As I was prepping for the race, I told myself that maybe I would hang the marathon shoes up, and run for enjoyment.  Get back to doing more yoga, cycling, and more hanging out with my hubs.  But there’s some part of me that’s dying for the experience of Chicago.

Blue skies.  One of my dearest friends of 5 years.  Food.  Drinks.  The Cubs winning things.  Texts from friends as I made my way through the course.  My husband telling me that I “look so good” 19 miles in.  I find myself absolutely consumed with the idea of running through the streets of Chicago, high fiving folks, reading signs, and flopping down in the grass in the park after I run.

I know I said I could be done after this one.

But I think I lied.