It's been a little over two weeks, and I can walk like a normal person and all that stuff. I have my traditional "Post-Marathon Cold," which is rather annoying. I spent the week after the marathon eating all the peanut butter I could get my hands on, and then after about a week of pure peanut-induced gluttony, I got back on the healthy eating train.
And it felt really strange to NOT run that much.
Good, though. I needed to think about it and reflect a bit.
Let me say this: I am still pretty much amazed and in awe that I took almost 18 minutes off my best marathon time ever with no more than 40 miles per week.
That's not really supposed to happen. And it did.
But here's the thing:
Now I can't go back.
I have realized now that I'm no longer the girl who might sneak in under 4 hours in a marathon if she's lucky. I'm no longer that runner.
I am now the girl who is a little bit fast.
I never thought I'd be her, but I am. I am the very runner I looked up to back when I started, and for that reason, I am not--NOT--allowed to complain about what happened two weeks ago.
What happened two weeks ago is nothing short of amazing. I respect it.
But it definitely made me hungrier.
See, folks, the bar has been raised by quite a lot. And if you've been around these parts since, oh, I dunno, 2005 when I started writing this blog, you can probably guess what I'm going to do next.
I'm going to give it another shot. Of course I am. Come on now. You know me better than that.
I can't just stop with my fingertips touching the bar.
I need to clear it.
This crazy dream I thought up a few years ago is so close, and now I know--I really know--that I can do it. It's going to be really, really hard, but I can do it. If I can do what I did two weeks ago, then surely I can take off 3 more minutes. It's a matter of time, and guts.
So here's to the next, first step.