starting

I will never run a marathon. I hate running. Sorry, I know there are a lot of people out there who love running. I do not. I do not understand the desire or urge to run, so running 26.2 miles, to me, is just batshit crazy. And don't even think for one second I will be one of those cancer-surviving yahoos that will decide to run a marathon to raise money for cancer research. Nope, not going to happen. I'll send a check.

ALL THAT BEING SAID, I love watching marathons and have many friends and family who have run many, with the best and most important race being the Boston Marathon. Natch. Watching marathons is a very serious business — people get to their spots early, bringing picnics, lawn chairs and giant signs. I've watched just about every Boston Marathon for the last almost 40 years in some way and we've always made a day of it. Schools are even closed in MA, so it is always a family affair.

For the runners, I imagine there is a ton of excitement and anticipation at the starting line in Hopkinton, with thousands of people teeming about, lubing their nipples and applying sunscreen, eating that weird runner goo people eat, setting their fancy runner watches and getting lined up. If there are spectators at the starting line, I assume those people are also pretty excited, maybe nervous, but generally looking forward to watching the race. If they're like me, they're wondering "Why would anyone run that long? Don't they get blisters? Are their feet hot? What if they have to poop?".

I kind of feel like one of those runners at the starting line. Like, I have this seemingly impossible thing I must do, really soon. Except I didn't sign up for this cancer ride VOLUNTARILY like those runner wackadoodles. The bus pulled up to take me to the starting line and everyone else is there with me, watching. But instead of anxious excitement at the starting line, all the spectators are crying. And hugging me. And each other. Some of them are even being consoled by others.

You are all so worried, and sad, and I'm like "eff this, I don't even have running shoes. Guess I have to buy some" and putting on my little shorts. I feel terrible that you guys are sad and worried. I feel grateful that you care and I feel the love surrounding me. I can feel it coming across miles and through texts and cards and in flowers and the food. I can. And I just want to say thank you. And I want to tell you to not be sad, and try not to be worried. Because I got this.

The starting pistol is going off in a couple of weeks. Surgery is scheduled. I have no idea what to do or how to get through it. But I don't seem to have a choice, so I'm going to tie my sneakers, eat some goo, and just run my ass off.