I'm sitting here typing in bed, because, quite frankly, I am POOPED and it's comfy. So there. I wanted to type up my race report now, while it's all fresh in my mind, but see this need (and I mean NEED) to inhale a nice juicy burger nownownownowNOW took over. So it will come. I promise. With some good pictures, too.
But for now, I need to sleep, especially considering I got (maybe) a grand total of 3 hours of sleep last night.
But you know what?
I did it.
And the really odd thing is that I just kind of knew I would. I told Matt that on Thursday. We were folding laundry that had taken over our room and putting it away, and I just stopped and looked at him and said, "You know what? I just think I'm going to do it."
So then I did. And I'm pretty excited.
We got an absolutely PERFECT day. Some would say cold, but for me the furnace, I was LOVIN' it.
And it's safe to say that some things I thought were simply impossible just really aren't anymore. I think I've finally gotten that through my thick skull. I don't even think I really believed it until now--even after Ironman.
And of course, that leads me to the next question: can I take off 18 more?
Because that's something I just never, ever thought would be possible for me. But I feel like it is. Not tomorrow, or anything. Probably not next year. But in my five-year plan.
This season has been, in a word, unbelievable. From the news that I was going to join this wonderful group of people in April, through PR after PR all year. I am, quite simply, in disbelief.
And I just have a feeling that it's only going to get better from here.