Go Time.

I'm sitting now in Sarah's apartment on the Upper West Side drinking a tall glass of water, eating plain yogurt, doing the meds, and checking and rechecking everything I have neatly laid out on her couch for tomorrow. The coffee pot is set for 3:30 am.

I am reflecting on the training that began in April and I remember the decision. It did not come at once - not an instant crystallization. More like something that started lukewarm in the recesses, gradually demanding more volume in the sphere of my consciousness. From some seed planted long ago, years ago, that has managed to find enough sunlight and water in the conversations and inspiration I took from others to grow into something real.

As many before me understand, and as I have come to understand, that decision to train for a marathon is in essence a bet with the self. It is an agreement to turn inward and challenge, for more than 26 miles, the mad conglomeration of bones and muscle, and nerves and blood, and experiences and memories, and doubts and fears, and strengths and determinations that make you, you.

I have not run 130 miles per week, and I'm not going out to break records tomorrow. But I have put myself in a position to complete this marathon. And that, even putting CF aside for a moment, is something special.

And as the gates and grandstands in Central Park await, empty and cloaked in darkness now only a few short blocks away, I turn inward again. I'm ready to go.