marching forward.

You can't tell from this photo, but running across the bridge with my sister on Saturday was COLD. AS. HECK. We were told that morning -- (I guess that morning was yesterday, but time has a funny way of moving like molasses from day-to-day, and very quickly with regards to the next thing I'm going to write) -- that there are nine weeks left leading up to the marathon, and I think I might've lost a little bit of my lunch thinking about it later.

Nine weeks to run a marathon. That's a quarter of a 100 miles.

And while I know it's not an insurmountable goal, it's still a feat I had resigned myself years ago to never achieving. I hate running. I mean, I like it, sort of. But by mid-late run, no matter what the distance -- 3, 7, 13 miles -- I don't feel very good. Like I'm being squeezed in a psychological vice, reminding me that I used to smoke a lot (I don't anymore), that I really loathe sporty girls with swishing ponytails, that humans aren't supposed to be outside in this weather unless they're working the land, or going from somewhere indoors to somewhere else, indoors.

Still, I am having a good time with it all. I kind of enjoy the interest many of my friends have taken in the athletic (mostly male, some female) or nutritional (mostly female, some male) aspects of training. I have noticed that running, often, through the gray winter has positively affected my mental health [seasonal affect disorder be damned!]. I get to hang out with my sister a ton, just short of her getting completely sick of me. I haven't met a single objectionable person who works for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. And I have loved that raising money for cancer research on behalf of my second mother and mentor has allowed me to be back in touch with a lot of wonderful people who are supporting my efforts.

Anyway, I'll try and do a better job of keeping my adventures updated, but for now, rest assured that while I'm adding mileage every week, I'm keeping the swish out of my ponytail.