As my father always said, no matter how slowly you run, even if you come in last, you beat everyone else who never even ran.

I got back from San Francisco last night at 11:45, feeling sick and gross and tired of traveling. I ran the half marathon, my first half marathon, in 2:08. Not as fast as I wanted, but I did the best job I could do. And now there is nowhere to go but up! I’ve not been converted to a full marathoner by any means, but I am already planning Half #2, and I am hoping to put all my lessons from Half #1 to work and run the second one in under 2 hours. You never know.

San Francisco was great, and amazing. My friends were fabulous hosts, the weather was gorgeous. I miss it already, but I am very tired and happy to be home. I missed Mr. E and my little Bella mightily. My ankle is fine, better than fine, and doesn’t hurt at all. Hopefully it was a one time thing and not a chronic injury.

I really did think that sometime after the finish I would have this all encompassing heavens bursting open revelatory moment where I felt like my soul was screaming “WOO HOO, I RAN 13.1 MILES!!!!!” but if that’s going to happen, well, it hasn’t happened yet. I do know that I’m really tired and I don’t feel good (for reasons unrelated to running) but I also think that maybe part of running a half marathon is talking yourself out of how scary and huge and amazing it is and by the time you actually do it, you realize that it’s just a matter of putting in the time and the dedication and believing in yourself and that while it all comes down to ticks on a finishing clock and a number pinned to a jersey and a cup of Gatorade that actually the real victory was that morning you ran even though you didn’t want to and that first time you ran five miles when you never ever believed you could and the two weeks you iced your ankle all day and all night and that’s why you and everyone else is out running together on Sunday morning and while some of you might be really fast and some of you might be really slow, all of you are runners.

But in spite of all of that, I am proud of myself. I’m might not be having a screaming “I did it moment” but you know what? I did do it. I did it.