21.1k, punchy feelings and the boy.

The Marathon

You know that feeling, when someone does something better than you, and you kind of want to punch them in the face? (Usually, if your mother taught you right, good manners take over and you grimace while congratulating them for whatever it is that they beat you at).

Well, not today.

Today I ran a half marathon. But, when I crossed that finish line and the pride was flowing, it wasn’t for myself. It was for the gorgeous human who puts up with my baking panic attacks, my extravagant magazine collection and my always out of control floordrobe. It was for the boy.

My story of running a half marathon is fairly standard and probably the same as most people out there today… I woke up on January 1st and decided I was actually going to stick with a New Years resolution (for once), and a half marathon seemed so much easier than the others on my list. (Such as; buy less shoes, no more impulse purchases or to stop using wine and chocolate to cheer me up at the end of a bad day at work.)

The boy on the other hand, he couldn’t run 4k a month ago because of a crippling knee injury that halted his marathon training in its tracks.

It was demoralizing for him. And if he was as melodramatic as me (he’s not), he might even say it was devastating.

Every time I ran I was hitting goals (slowly, but surely) and he was in pain. Despite this, his punch-in-the-face feelings seemed non-existent (or very well hidden) and he always told me how proud he was of my achievements.

The Marathon2

The boy made every slow step he was told by his physio, every strange exercise with elaborate elastic bands and rollers and he fucking rocked today (pardon my French).

To be completely honest, I thought that green-eyed monster would rear its ugly head. I mean, I totally trained my but off (kind of literally) and he has only given it 4 measly weeks of running towards this race, and he ran it half an hour faster than me! But no, there isn’t even an inch of jealousy or pangs of punchy feelings, just complete and utter joy.

This time, I get to tell him how proud I am of him.

Sometimes you meet people and they blow you away with how beautiful they are. And when awesome things happen to those people, well, you just kind of can’t help but smile (and fist pump on their behalf).

Congratulations my wonderful, beautiful boy. I am so proud of you.

NB I promise I will go back to my cynical, grumpy self tomorrow (once the adrenaline has died down).

The Marathon3


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