DEATH BY 13.1 MILES

As the Salt Lake City half marathon approaches, I can't help asking myself, "Why am I voluntarily putting myself through so much pain?  Again?"  Zach is an old pro at these races, but this is only my second half marathon ever.  During my first one back in September I swore that I would never do it again.  My toes hurt, my calves hurt, my thighs hurt, I couldn't walk right for days, and I don't even want to go into how my gluteus maximus felt.  But then, about a week after normal ambulatory movement was restored, we got this picture from the race website:

 Don't we look happy?  Like all our wildest dreams are coming true?  Wait!  I remember that feeling of accomplishment, the runner's high, and huge race excitement feeling you get.  So I let Zach talk me into signing me up for another one.  I admit that there are times during training when I swear that goofy smile must have really been a grimace of pain, and that no "runner's high" is worth the "runner's knees, hip, and plantar" that I am steadily developing, but there's no turning back now. 

Pheidippides, the original marathoner, DIED after bringing the victory message to Athens, so I think it's pretty safe to assume I'll be half dead this Saturday afternoon, and I'll be out a husband, who is doing the full 26.2 miles.  What a way to celebrate our one year anniversary!

--Note from Zach---
My wife let me read this post before putting it on the blog.  Let me simply say that we're supporting my future profession, as we should increase the need for drugs like celebrex and cyclobenzaprine.  Physicians specializing in knee and hip replacements should be thanking us in about 20-30 years as well.  I love you dear and am excited to spend our one year anniversary with you whether you're in a semi-mortem state or not.