Waiting to Run

This is my 100th blog post.  And it's only fitting that I do it here, the day before my marathon, in San Francisco.

 Jet lag is so lame.  I defiantly defy sleep.  It's 5am here and I've been up since 2am.

Maybe it's the 9-hour difference from Cairo.

Maybe I'm feeling nervous (24 hours from now I'll be at the start line).

Maybe I just can't sleep.

I've been training since May.  Derailed multiple times by injuries, a super cheeky taxi driver, aggressive dogs, stifling heat, a toddler who quit sleeping through the night.  Self-doubt. I've been beat up, beat down.

But I've also loved many of the moments.  The short runs, the long runs, the failed runs, the ones where I walked more than ran.  And those rare gems -- the runs where I felt like I could fly.  In the past five months, I've run in Colorado, Florida, Ohio, California, and of course, Egypt.  I've burned through three pair of sneakers, five ACE wraps, gallons of water and Gatorade, and logged in more miles than I could keep track of.

So here I am. Waiting to run.  I spent yesterday exploring Union Square, going to the Nike Expo, the Niketown Store, got my hair blondier and bobbier, went to Starbucks, got my rings cleaned at Tiffany's, went to Starbuck again, did some more exploration.

Today I'm going to tour Alcatraz, Sausalito, and Muir Woods.  I'll probably crash early tonight, hoping to get just enough sleep for tomorrow.

Then I'll line up with 25,000 other runner and do my thing.  Run. I won't be the fastest, nor will I be the slowest.  But I will be proud to have run it.  I've been waiting and training for this for a long time.

I certainly won't look anywhere near this awesome when I cross the finish line tomorrow. But I hope this is exactly how I feel: