The Chicago Marathon wasn't the race I planned. I ran 50 minutes slower than my April marathon, and "ran" is being generous. I walked. I got pulled off course and checked by medical personnel. My final 3.5 miles were saved by copious, unsanctioned bananas and I was so grateful to be able to even jog. I had horrible PMS, I screwed up my electrolytes in the week leading up to the race, and I stopped sweating in the heat. But it was the race I needed. As much as I wanted a time PR, I wanted a mental PR even more, and I had one. At no point did I get pissed and want to quit. I didn't beat myself up. I didn't worry about what people would think. I just wanted to finish. When I finally saw the 800 meter sign, the tears started. I've never cried finishing a marathon before. I think I finally learned the meaning of the word "endure," and I'm grateful for the experience. Even more grateful for a weekend with Jason, Amanda, and Brian. You never know when your words or actions will resonate with people. Jason and Amanda's certainly did while I was out there.