So, this weekend passed like many other autumn weekends do.
Some college football.
Some NFL football.
Some stalking my fantasy team and wondering why the HECK all my players had to implode during the same week.
The combination of the above = a slight sense of fuzziness come Sunday morning.
Of course, the Chicago Marathon was this Sunday.
That’s the view from my balcony.
There is nothing, nothing that will make you feel more worthless than watching people bust through 26.2 miles in the heat while you’re sitting on your breezy balcony wishing that you had forgone that last Sam Adams Octoberfest the night before.
And forget about side-stepping the issue by trying to sleep through it. It’s impossible.
So, Sunday morning, I sat on my balcony and watched elites, runners and walkers pass by for 2 1/2 hours.
I sat there the whole time.
And maybe it was the mild hangover talking, but I started getting emotional. I’m not proud to admit that I’m just about as emotionally unstable as a 14 month pregnant woman on a good day, but it was a little bit ridiculous- even for me.
As I started to get choked up watching people run by, I started thinking about how amazing it would feel to run that marathon some day.
I mean…I’ve got a year to train…
So now I need someone to slap me across the face and talk me out of this before I start losing toenails.