My husband is running a marathon on Saturday.
It's not the wussy half-marathon.** Nope, it's the full monty: 26.2 miles. (Because the other 26 miles are nothing without the 0.2.)
This entire thing is not something I understand.
Okay, maybe not the entire thing. I get the need to push yourself, to work harder than you've ever worked before to reach a goal. It's just the length of this goal that boggles. I mean, 26.2 miles! I think I can run 2. Maybe 3 on a good day. And I always push myself, I do - usually until it hurts. (See yesterday's post.)
So I'm proud of him. He's been training for quite some time, forever it seems like. And he's dedicated, which is pretty amazing when you think about how awful it must feel to run that long. He's gotten up to 20 miles because everything he's read said that if you can run 20 miles you can do the entire thing. That's probably because after reaching mile 20 you're brain shuts down and stops sending signals to your body that this is painful so please to be stopping now because it knows you're not really paying attention anyway.
At least that's my theory.
We have to get to the marathon place super early on Saturday so he can get all of his swag and stuff, so the kids are staying with my mother on Friday. I don't think they'd do well with the extended amount of time we'd need to be in the crowd, anyway. I'd rather not deal with a tantrum-y 3 year old and her bored out of his mind brother. Because apparently it takes time to run a marathon, like four whole hours. (Even more of a reason why it is completely unfathomable to me. RUNNING FOR FOUR HOURS IS INSANE!)
However, I'm incredibly proud of the hubs for doing what he's doing because I see how much effort he's put forth.
And I'll be cheering from the sidelines because LOOK AT WHAT MY HUSBAND CAN DO!
*Made you look!
**In no way do I consider a half-marathon wussy. Don't throw things at me I WAS JOKING.