Who put the ON in Marathon?

ME! Thats right, kids. In one week and five days, I am going to somehow traverse 26.2 miles.

I know you are totally like, Where the hell have you been? I heard the rumors. I know you guys crossed out the "Daphne Runs Marathon" notation on your calendars.

It's ok, I'm not mad. I was right there with you until about Friday, when I suddenly realized that I am farrrr too bad ass to not follow through with this.

A summary:

So, the injuries were piling up. We finally got my left leg working properly, and then my right leg was all "not so fast." I couldn't run at all. I was doing all these exercises and going to PT every week, but running just hurt. So I waited and waited until I finally just gave up. On Oct. 3, I announced to a few people that I wasn't going to be ready in time.

I started trying to decide whether I could be ready in time for the White Rock Marathon on December 10, but I was scared to sign up. I couldn't stand the idea of dropping out of two of these things. It was awful, and I was fairly depressed.

On Oct. 6, I was bumming out my friend Charlotte about it while we rocked out to an 80s cover band specializing in metal/glam rock. Just so you have the full picture, I was a wearing a Poison T-shirt and guitar earrings. H-O-T. She mentioned that she was thinking of running the Army 10 Miler that Sunday on the Galloway system, with a ratio of 4 minutes running, one minute walking.

I was signed up for the 10 Miler, and I figured, now I don't have to be careful anymore, since I'm not doing the marathon, right? I mean, hey, what am I saving myself for? So I said I'd do it, too.

Anyway, I was shocked to find how much easier the 4:1 business was. We sailed through the race. My leg did hurt toward the end, but never very severely. It was like that one minute of lighter impact seemed to keep it in check.

So, on Friday (the 13th), I decided to give it one last shot. If I could run at least 15 miles on the Galloway system Saturday morning, I would run the marathon. Friday night, I skipped what sounded like a real fun party. I was serious.

I mapped out a 16.44 trail and hit the road at about 10:30 (original plan was to take of at 7:30, but am I made of stone?). I would like to note that this route is further than I am usually willing to drive.

Friend: "Hey, Daphne, I hear there's a hot new restaurant in Silver Spring -- wanna go?"
Me: "Nah, too far."

Anyway, the first 10 miles were total cake. The weather was perfect and I was in a fantastic mood, even though I was mostly going uphill. By about mile 14, I was totally overjoyed, because I realized the I was totally up for the marathon. Also, I had the sense that the downhill portion was near. Little did I know that I was hopelessly, pathetically lost.

So, I did not, in fact run 16.44 miles. I ran 18.67 miles. Actually, I stopped running all together for about that last mile, because I was desperately trying to find my way again. Eventually I found the metro. Who the hell ever heard of "Wheaton?"

I had a party to attend that night, so I needed to be able to, like, walk. So, I had myself an ice bath. That experience gave me what I believe is a small sense of what it is like to be a cat. (Dear childhood cats, I am so sorry about the baths. I didn't know. Love, Daphne.)

Anyway, it worked, and I was totally ambulatory for the whole night. The next morning was laughable. I felt like I needed to borrow one of those rolly-boards from the Vietnam vets downtown, but how was I going to get downtown? Anyway, ibuprofen, stretching, and about 7 hours of reality TV fixed me right up.

So, there it is. In one week and six days I can (and will) call myself a marathoner. I will be slow, but I will finish. If you can come out to cheer me on, please do. More info on that to come.