Youngest

Went home again. For a funeral.

Again.

Although the house isn’t where I grew up, the small town is. Purchased when I was 18; I was mostly on my own and out of the house at that point. But, it’s where my people are and importantly where my stuff is. Thus, home.

Home.

Slept one night in ‘my room’. My room as in I picked the paint color, sleep there when I’m in town and where my stuff is.

Woke up in the middle of the big squishy bed with my one eared dog (His other ear is in the dresser; it’s been there and on the to do list at least 20 years. I’m fairly confident, it won’t get done.) and my Amy doll. Strawberry Shortcake looking on.

Something comforting in that. Going home. Waking up to the sounds of people in the kitchen, smell of coffee and bacon.

The house was full of people and energy. Very loud, so much laughing. Because, even when we’re sad, when we’re together, we’re laughing. And loud. It’s kind of our thing.

But, in true youngest kid style, the second night I spent on the couch. The house was at max capacity. Been awhile since I’ve slept on the couch in the TV room. Tucked in with a quilt and a pillow, just like it was when I was seven.

Because, even at nearly 40, when you’re the youngest, and home, it doesn’t matter.

You’re seven.

Marathon!

Holy shit! I did it.

So fresh - at the start!

That's pretty much all I can think right now.

That and, control freaks probably shouldn't run marathons... or at least, control freaks like me...

I had been thinking of running one, I've written about it before. It's part of a long list of things to do the year I turn 40. I sort of buckled to peer pressure though and signed up for one earlier than I originally planned. Originally planned June, after I actually turned 40. Ended up doing one in April, more than a month before I turn 40. No matter. I signed up, paid my money and set up a training plan. A very long and somewhat tortuous training plan. Which I didn't follow exactly. Some days, no matter what, you just don't feel like following the plan. Even a control freak like me will shirk the plan on occasion. Then feel guilty. And maybe a little dirty.

Finally, like all things, it actually came to the day. As I considered it a bucket list item, a one and done, I wasn't very nervous. I just had to not die. Literally.

And, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Mostly because I really had no expectation. The first 13 miles were a breeze. Yes, I said that. But then, oh but then, my left knee lost its mind and stopped bending. STOPPED BENDING. Because it's an asshole. I staggered along... an old woman on a bike asked me if I was okay. When a 70+ year old woman on a bike is concerned about your condition you know things are bad... or at least possibly bad.

I had to keep going though. I had trained for six months. There was no way I was leaving that course unless it was on a stretcher. In an ambulance. Worst case, hearse.

The poor husband was trying so hard at the check ins to be helpful - offering snacks and protein and energy things. But, honestly, I was so not in the mood. I was in the mood to stab someone. For sure. In that mood. Stabby. STABBY.

Around mile 16 that knee finally loosened up and and started behaving. I had a solid five or six miles after that.

Eventually it lost it's mind again and pulled my right foot into the insanity. I very slowly made my way to mile 26. The last .2 were brutal. Even with my friends cheering me on, I barely finished. But, I did.

More time than I wanted. But, it's a one and done thing. So who cares?

Right?

Oh, but the and then...

After I was showered and fed and napped.

I'm doing it again. But, better. Because now I have a baseline. I have what all control freaks need.

Metrics.

Done. With medal.