New York, NY (the city where I ran my first marathon)

One Race. 26.2 miles. Five Boroughs. 90,000 applicants. The streets of New York.

This Saturday night I will go to bed early. I will wake up on Sunday. Rested. Refreshed.

I know what I need to do and I will live up to the challenge.

As others lie under their warm comforters with the new day a distant thought in their head. I will be up. I will stretch. I will get out the OJ and I will mentally prepare.

It's been one year. One year to the day. To the day of last year's NYC ING Marathon. I've had one whole year to prepare.

As I hear my roommate begin to stir in her room, I know. I know what I need to do. I take a deep breath. I open the OJ and I pour. I pour the first, of what promises to be many, mimosas.

The buzzer rings, our first of many guests has arrived. We high five. We toast. We get ready to walk down the grueling 5 flights of stairs to the street outside our apartment and then down one block to the 18th mile marker. We stake our spot. It's time to cheer. To cheer, to drink. To cheer and drink until we can do it no more (or in this case until the Race ends).

I am proud to live in NYC. I am proud of the athletes who have stepped up to run this Race. It will inspire me to run a little faster on my next 1.5 mile leisurely jog around the Reservoir.

So this Sunday I will do what I can. I will cheer my little heart out and I will raise my glass to the runners. Here's to you crazy little marathon runner. Here's to you.