Firsts Are the Best (Maybe)

I remember my first race. When I say my first race, I mean going all the way back to elementary school "Field Day." I remember my first race on the track team at which I literally threw up. I remember my first race as a member of the New York City Road Runner's Club. Of course I remember my first marathon. All were very memorable all for various reasons. One thing that all of them have in common is the simple fact that they were all surrounded by the bliss of ignorance.

Its wonderful to not know certain things. Lets face it, there is a certain level of masochism to running, especially long distances. There is a lot of panting, sweating and sometimes some blood and tears. Before a race you don't know the beast that is staring you in the face. You are happy to have trained, signed up and then to be standing on the starting line. That's it. It doesn't get anymore complicated than that.

I was reminded of all this glorious oblivion because first my wife back in November finished her first half-marathon and then my sister-in-law ran her first half marathon yesterday. Now, not to bore you with any details, but they both finished. The part of all of this that is actually pertinent to this little post is that they were both engulfed in not knowing. It was wonderful to see and to be around. It may in some weird, round-the-mountain kinda way this feeling my be a one of the reasons I decided to do this 50 miler. I have no idea what it will be like and I love every minute of it. Flying blind.