Half marathon -- done.

The hubby and I after the big race.

I'm a runner.

I'm not sure why I ever doubted myself. Maybe the former 237-pound Sarah is lingering deep inside me, making me unsure of my physical abilities. Maybe the competitor in me hates that I can't keep up with the fastest runners I know. Maybe I'm worried that I'll call myself a runner, only to fail and not be able to meet my goals. Whatever the reason, I shouldn't have doubted myself.

On May 20 I finished my first half marathon.

13.1 miles.

My husband, Cory, ran the race as well. And although it wasn't easy, it was an unbelievable feeling for us each to finish our first half marathon. Immediately following the race, I thought to myself: Okay. I can check the half marathon off my list of things to do. Done. But apparently running these races is more addictive than I thought, because just a few hours later I was researching which race I wanted to run next. Maybe the Denver Rock 'n' Roll half marathon in September? Maybe the full marathon?

Maybe.

This runner isn't finished yet.