I always thought I’d be able to tell folks exactly where I was when I decided to run my first long-distance race. You know, one of those sobering, psych-yourself-up moments you never forget.
Turned out to be quite the anti-climax, really. We were riding in the car around four months ago when our son, Mark, blurted out, “Dad, we’re running the half-marathon in Burlington this May.”
“Thanks for signing me up, son,” I believe I muttered under my breath. “Did you put me down for the firing squad, too?”