Eighteen.

It's morning.  I'm shivering in the cold room, having just gotten out of a hot shower but allowing myself far too much of an interval of time before dressing to the point where I've cooled off and am now cold and wet.  Like the tears that are suddenly cracking out of the corners of my eyes:  I haven't legitimately cried in...awhile.  But.  Right now I'm feeling a lot. I'm feeling overwhelmed, worried, scared, excited and mostly like I just need to get stuff off my chest - with my consistent parts of crazy and wild in the background, cheering me on. 

"...and sometimes you just look lost.   Like there's a lot going on, but I can't get in."

...

...

...

The morning air was expected.  The atmosphere was expected.  Most of it was...expected.  I'm getting pretty good at this - not the running necessarily, but the mornings.  I don't get too nervous anymore.  I can predict my stomach's patterns.  I know what I need and what I need to do, and I have it down to a system, a ritual.  However, this one was a little different.

It was the morning of Number Eighteen and it was different because I was not alone.  In the past several months I've managed to find more mangy, wild animals to run with and found myself down in the Big Easy, toeing the start line in corral number five with my running club.  The light was dim and the air smelled like it was going to get hot later on, but for that moment, still smelled like piss and garbage and regrets wafting off of the French Quarter just hours prior. 

The siren finally went off, signaling us to start in our wave.  Nothing too epic, not too much pontificating, but enough drama to remind me it was a Big. Race. 

GO

Off I went, and again, was having issues getting into my zone and into my head - I learned during this race that I am DONE with running with half marathoners for the first 13.  Done.  It's crazy, ridiculous and stressful.  I can't find my rhythm, I can't get my focus, and I'm sick of them needing the fanfare.  Seriously - 13.1 miles is not epic.  I know that I'm surely not a special snowflake by any stretch, but I'm just sick of the half marathon charity-fanfare-clever-logo-shirt-insert-inspirational-running-quote-dot-com culture.  Done. 

At mile 14 my leg started experiencing shooting pain all the way up the shaft of my calf - not muscular, but bone pain.  However, as I told him as his long legs fell into stride with mine, I didn't come all the way down to this race and didn't buy all that crap at the expo to drop out.  I would crawl across the finish, even if it took me seven hours and the finish line had closed.  He just said OK and good luck and he'd see me later, and then he peeled off. 

Off I went. 

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. RUN.

Suddenly we were on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain.  Back and forth and all over that goddamn beach.  Running in exposed Louisiana sunlight sucked the energy right from my system.  I was sweating and tired.  My feet hurt and my leg and ankle were throbbing.  I didn't smell right and I didn't have enough fluid.  Then the rest just sailed by - it was hard at the time, but I'm used to it now, so I knew it was hard and I knew to dig in and I knew that it would be a final obnoxious six miles and then I'd be done.  And then I was!  The final mile was long but I finished in 4:01.  Not that great, but I can't do anything to change that.  Number Eighteen is a beautiful medal.

...

I'm stunned though.  The race, sure, it was emotional as they all are and heavy and important and a story and an adventure in and of itself.  However, I'm still wrapping my head around it all - supposedly belonging to this crazy wolf-like pack and him.  I was shocked when he said that I seem lost, because he's right and hearing that from someone else was very sobering because it's the truth.  I am lost.  I don't know why, really.  Unfortunately, I don't have any marathons for a few weeks, and it's unfortunate because usually I would claim that the next one would help introduce me to that part of myself that needs attention to make peace again, but alas.  Unfortunately, maybe I need to stop diverting all of this and actually figure out why I do feel lost instead of running from it. 

...

As the plane came in for landing it was pitch black outside. I could see the city lights and could make out the general vicinity of where my house was in proximity.  More importantly, I saw lights on the harbor - a sign that spring and warmth and blueskyrunning is just around the bend.  I know I'll figure this all out.  I know I'll run like a wild animal in the months ahead, sunshine sweat.  I know I'll be found, whatever that means; it's an unknown right now but in the words of my best friend:  I'm growing, and I will get there.