I had an epiphany today when I was out on my two and a half hour long run.
I was running very slowly and I coverd 20.6 km. That is nearly a half marathon.
While I was shuffling away, thinking about how I'd get my wits about me to run an additional ten during the Around the Bay Race, my mind wandered forward in time to my first attempt at a full marathon (maybe in May at the Mississauga Marathon).
I realized that a half marathon (the furthest distance I've ever run) is only HALF a marathon.
I know. It seems obvious. Logical even. But somehow, I didn't get it until today.
I blame it on Delia. Or all those other accomplished runners who tell you as soon as you've done a 5k race that a 10k is hardly any more work. And once you've done a 10k, they say you might as well do a half because you're almost there anyway. And if you follow this logic, when you've done a half, you're pretty much doing a full, only with a few fewer blisters and a few more healthy toe nails.
So it seemed logical to aim for a full marathon - that lifelong triumph that I want to taste at least once.
And today, when I was half limping the last kilometre with sore knees and hips and iliotibial bands, I realized that in a full marathon I'd only be HALF done.
That's not even a little bit comforting to someone who is dragging themselves those last few steps. HALF is NOTHING! That's like finishing a half marathon and turning around and going back.
What madness have I gotten myself into.