26.2

sunday i was part of history. the first time ever that the chicago marathon was canceled. my first marathon...my very first marathon. and it was hot, record high hot. seriously, who would've thought in october it would be 90 degrees? after i ran 18 miles, the police started saying that the race was officially canceled, that there wasn't any more water, that there weren't any more ambulances in the city, that for our health and safety, we needed to stop running. someone died sunday, 300 were hospitalized, thousands sought medical attention. they ran out of water at the second water stop, so i didn't have water between mile 2 and 7. i heard that they ran out of water at the first water stop not long after me...and so some were running seven miles without water. after mile 18 i ran for a bit and realized i wouldn't be able to make it all the way without water, so i walked...but i wasn't about to get on the shuttle busses that they brought in to take people back to the finish line. i came out to finish a marathon, so i did...i even ran the last mile of the course because i knew i could make it. i finished, and i'm not in the hospital. and i should be proud right? that's what everyone says. i mean 12,000 of the 36,000 who started sunday, didn't finish. so why am i just disappointed more than anything? why do i feel the need to run columbus in two weeks? running has never been about time or competition for me. it's never been about proving anything to anyone else. i run because it's my one time of day by myself, where i can think, listen to my music, it's my time. so why does it matter that i walked six miles or so? what am i trying to prove to myself, if anything? why can't i just be happy with finishing? why do i always want more?