Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning's End

...At least that's how the song goes. But sometimes I think it's spot on.

I started singing these lyrics in my head when I woke up this morning (the song is Closing Time by Semisonic). I must have been in some kind of sleeping, air-conditioning induced daze when I rolled out of bed because I made the mistake of reaching into my closet for a pair of jeans. Pants? Seriously? I can't remember the last time I wore pants in this state. It wasn't until I opened the oven door, er, I mean, the front door, when I realized what I had done. But alas, I'd gone too far, so I breathed in the last bit of a/c and headed over to the Communities in School central office to sign a bunch of paperwork and officially complete my year of service.

A beginning's end: AmeriCorps, year one, a year that began last fall, in the bag. It seems totally surreal that I've already spent a year working for this organization, but I'm happy to think that, despite the fact that I'll be at a new school, with a new supervisor, new coworker, and new students, I myself will not be a total newb. So it's not REALLY an end, but since AmeriCorps is a yearly contract, I DID get oficially recognized for completing a year of service, Ta da! So here's to the end of one service, and the beginning of a whole new year to come!

Another beginning's end: Back in March, about two weeks after I completed the Austin marathon, I got the itch to run again. For days right after the race I'd stare are my shoes and think, maybe I'll go for a quick one. But then I'd stand up and my legs would overpower my brain with an adamant "no." Stubborn as I am, I decided to let this one go, and plop back down on the couch. Finally after what seemed like ages of not lacing up my asics, I went out for a short 3 mile run. When that felt ok, I went for another one. And then for a 4 mile run. And then for another one. Before I knew it, I was back on a running crusade.

I even started meeting up with my tuesday morning running buddies again. None of us were training for anything anymore, we weren't meeting for a speed workout anymore, we simply were doing it for the pleasure of socializing with each other in the pitch darkness of the trail at 6 a.m. once a week. That's totally normal, right? So there we were, bopping along one morning, when I said, hey guys, soooo, I'm thinking of running the San Francisco Marathon. In return I received a lot more pep and excitement than I would have imagined so early in the morning. The others wanted to go too! Cool. So a couple weeks later, after vacillating about the topic, I couldn't come up with any good reasons not to go, so I signed up. And then one friend signed up. And then the other signed up!

After the excitement of signing up and making it official passed, it started to get warmer. April was nice, and then May rolled around and it started to get a little uncomfortable to run. Ah May, killing me softly with your heat. Next things I knew, it was June, no more of this "softly" business, just flat out killing me with your heat. We started to wonder, what the eff were we thinking we decided to sign up for this race? Training in the heat? In Texas?

And now he were are, 4 months later, and I just went on my last run of the training, and packed up my sneakers with 355 miles, 55 activities, and over 33,000 calories logged since March. The end of training? I say logged because sometimes I find myself falling into the woes of what people are starting to call "zen running," where you go out with just you and yourself, no music, no Garmin GPS watch to record my every step, no nothing. There were mornings when I'd wake up and the last thing I wanted to do was monitor my pace, my time -- numbers numbers numbers, gaaaah! So I'd lace up and run out the door with no watch, nothing to look at but the road. And so, I hold no record of these runs other than in my head and on my legs.

I'm actually quite shocked that these Asics sneaks I've just packed up, the same ones that got me through my first marathon, with 700+ miles pounded on them since last December, are still in condition and ready to leave with me this morning to head westbound for another 26.2. Send it around again!

My goal? I feel like if I say it out loud, if I even write it, I'll jinx myself. But then I realize that this is a goal many runners share, it's no secret, and it is something to be a little scared of, but also something to look forward to, to strive for, to fight for. So, if I could get my way this Sunday, what I would want the most would be to qualify for Boston, to run 9 minutes faster that I have and cross the finish to make the standard before they change it in september and make it even harder to break into. Sometimes I think, 9 minutes, that's NOTHING. And other times, when my feet hurt, I feel dehydrated, my stomach aches, and I still have more miles to go, I think holy shit, 9 minutes is IMPOSSIBLE.

I recently read a quote about a runner and the Boston Marathon that really stuck with me. She said: "Isn't it the weirdest thing? Something so damn hard, so humbling, so fickle, so painful, is also the thing we seek on purpose?" That's exactly it. The harder it is to achieve, the fewer people can get there, the more restrictions there are, the harder we have to work for it, the more we want it. It's like when you're a kid and your mom tells you you can't have a cookie... well damn, you think, now I really want the cookie.

So here I go, curiously feeling less nervous than I did in february, perhaps because I've already surpassed that initial fear of the unknown 26.2. Of course I'm sure I will wake up tomorrow morning and head over to the course at 5 a.m. filled with race-day jitters, but I'll try my best to keep in mind the following thought:

"The runner's greatest asset, apart from essential fitness of body, is a cool and calculating brain, allied to confidence and courage." - Franz Stampfl

On your marks, get set....