So I’m in training for another marathon right now. I ran my first in 2007.

Why, exactly, am I doing another one?

Honestly? Just to make sure the first one wasn’t a fluke.

Dead serious.

I figure – If I can do TWO then that solidifies my entry into the 26.2 club, right? I’ve definitely earned the badge. I’ve done it twice. I’m officially a warrior. At least that is the way I see it.

In any event, my running partner Katie and I wake up every Saturday morning to slog through our weekly long run together.

We are slow and steady. We laugh a lot. We visualize our obnoxious race day running outfits. We talk about our kids. We strategize. Did I mention that we laugh a lot?

My husband finally gets my running obsession. For the longest time he would watch me getting ready to run and just shake his head. (Especially when I would slather myself with Body Glide.) I mean, he has a point. Why in the world would anyone want to wake up at 5:00am to participate in an activity that would take hours to complete and produce blisters the size of golf balls?

Um, because it is fun? Because it gives me piece of mind? Because it makes me feel like a bad ass? Or perhaps because it guarantees that I won’t kill him or the children?

How about… all of the above?