twenty-five hours

Up flaps…
and awaaaay we go!

This time tomorrow, I'll be hopping up and down to keep warm, wondering if I have time for one more quick trip to the porta-potty, jacked up on the combined adrenaline of 14,000 other people crazy enough to want to get up and run 26 miles and 385 yards at a time when most ordinary folks are having their bagels with their Sunday New York Times.

And I am already amused: the packing O.C.D. that is possible for us knitters when we go somewhere?  Compounded in the context of a marathon.

Let me tell ya, the fear of chafing in mysterious places, the heinous blisters possible if one forgets one little thing … paralyzing.

Yesterday, there was the huge wave of gratitude for remembering that my running shoes were in my gym bag, and not yet in the suitcase. Forgetting my shoes? Like forgetting the set of DPNs for the top of a hat. Terminal. Drive-home-and-get-'em-worthy.

Giddy-up. I'm ready.