My nerves are getting to me today. The Pikes Peak Marathon looms large, and although it's something I've done before, it's a rather big something to be doing on a summer Sunday. 

My son is 11 months old today. I knew in March that signing up for this marathon was a big reach, especially as I recovered from a c-section. But I used it as fuel. It was my motivator through the winter, pulling me out the door when my body felt flabby and alien, logging as many miles as my body would permit, struggling up hills I used to breeze up, lagging behind the friends I longed to run alongside. 

But even though it was hard, I kept going. To feel alive. To reconnect with nature and my friends. To make my body strong again. To set an example for my son. To regain mental clarity and focus. Because it's there. Because I physically could not spend any more time in my house. So many reasons.

I laughed, I cried, I yelled, I persevered. 

Since September 18, 2016, I've covered over 1,200 miles on my own two feet. 

On Sunday, I'm adding 26 miles to that total.

Let's light this candle.