Happiness is a journey, not a destination. Much in the same way that running is a journey and not a destination, although I’d be a dirty liar if I said I wasn’t thinking about the finish line every step of my 13.1 mile adventure around Golden Gate Park and along Ocean Beach two Sundays ago.
I’ve thought of a couple inspirational ways to write this post and cross number ten off my list, but every one of them has come out boring and banal.
I’ll leave it at this: bedraggled, soaking wet, and with aching legs, I crossed the finish line in two hours and one minute, having run every step of the way, and spent the rest of the day curled up in my boyfriend’s bed nursing legs that were constantly reminding me of the abuse I’d heaped upon them.
The aching faded after two days (except some irritating knee pain), but the sense of accomplishment has, happily, lingered.