A friend of mine from college is a Very Fast Runner, the kind who travels hither and yon for races, and so even though she is a doctor in California she is here in Chicago today running the marathon. I decided that it would be good exercise for me to walk the two blocks from my apartment to the 25 mile point of the racecourse to cheer her on as she finished, so I carefully calculated 2 hours and 10 minutes past race start time (did I mention? Very Fast Runner?) and walked the 5 minutes over there, and sure enough, I timed it almost exactly right and within 5 minutes of my arrival she whizzed by me and I got to shout “GO MELISSA!” and then walk home again and in that 20 minutes of excruciating exertion I think I managed to get frostbite because it is, like 34 degrees outside. How she and 40,000 others are running 26.2 miles in this wind is beyond me. How she’s doing it in two and a half hours seems superhuman. Me? I’m so proud of myself for “working out” (20 Minute Jaunt in the Cold must burn more calories than Watching Tivo for Hours on End, right?) that I think I’m going to draw myself a hot bath. Hey, we all measure accomplishment in different ways.