this entry brought to you by the number 10

Ten years ago, I was a newlywed. Today I am a single lady.
Ten years ago, I lived in the same sleepy suburb I grew up in near my friends from high school. Today I live in a less-sleepy suburb near those friends and a lot of new ones.
Ten years ago, I had no idea what improv comedy was or that anyone in Boston performed it. Today I'm an established member of the community.
Ten years ago, the idea of even watching someone else move on foot for ten miles seemed impossible. Today it's something I've already done.
A lot has changed.

I was nervous leading up to Saturday's run. I hadn't done the long run the week before, and the most mileage I'd done at once was 6. I did a mile on the treadmill at work on Monday and it took FOREVER, so there was no way I was going to come in under 3 hours. I'd lose a shoe. Break my ankle. Coach Andy would get mad at me and kick me out of the program. My headband would suddenly not fit and my ears would freeze. Somehow, something was going to go horribly wrong and I would find a way to screw up and be a complete failure. I put on my sneakers, sure that humiliation was tying itself to my laces.

I got to the meeting point on time, did a little stretching, figured out the first part of the route, and was on my way.

Nothing really eventful happened. I saw a blue jay, which was nice. I smelled some pine trees and some fireplaces and some cinnamon rolls. There was a dead skunk. At least I think it was a skunk. Hard to tell. But I didn't have any sort of breakthrough or epiphany or great idea for a blog post. I just kept going. When parts hurt, I stretched them. When my mentor offered me water, I took it. I got lost once, and tried to figure out how standing at a crossroads between Saugus and Wakefield was symbolic, but it's not. I just kept walking, and passed the point where I was supposed to stop. No one was there to pick me up, so I kept going. For a total of10 miles.

I was one of the only people to finish their miles that day. People got hurt or couldn't make the time limit. My coach didn't realize that I had done it, but didn't seem all that surprised when I corrected him and told him that I had. And I had to admit that I wasn't that surprised either. I know, deep down, that this half marathon is something I can do. The hardest part of all of this has been figuring out how to believe the voice that knows it over the other, louder, meaner one that I'm so used to hearing. It's getting easier. A lot has changed.