What A Rush

    I underestimated the intensity of the high and afterglow that I would experience after completing The Big One. Here it is, 3:30am, and I sit at my keyboard wishing I could somehow manage to put into words the thoughts ricocheting around inside my skull, the feelings coursing through every fiber of my body. That I could somehow express, in black and white, just a glimpse of the ecstasy, exaltation, intoxication, jubilance, and sheer triumph that fills my soul at this moment. Part of me, that logical snippet of Brain that is always attempting, often in vain, to rein in my manic, exuberant, untamed whirlwind, is trying to convince me that I am merely delirious from from my exertions, lack of sleep, and continuous hunger. Maybe so. But really, I don't believe a word he is saying. I am riding the crest of the wave of victory. A victory of mind, body, and spirit. I honestly feel as if this has changed me forever. I feel as if I should be able to look in a mirror and see some mark, some alteration of my physical being, an aura.
    I was sure that after the event I would be absolutely exhausted, brain dead, completely wiped out. Instead I was brimming with energy. I felt as if it were spilling over and leaking out of every pore. Yes, my muscles were stiffening up, and I sure as hell didn't feel up to running another mile, but I think I could have gone out dancing. Instead I chattered, bubbled, and had brief eruptions of spastic glee. I talked, nearly nonstop for the two hour drive home (fortunately my son was driving me home, so I didn't have to talk to myself). Once home I wandered about the house, ate again, and then again, tried to shut my brain down by browsing the internet, and finally made myself go to bed. I did manage to sleep for two hours before coming wide awake with the thought, "70.3 miles, fuck yeah!" I managed to drift in and out a bit, telling myself that if I didn't sleep I would be an absolute basket case come sunrise, but apparently I was not very convincing. Instead I lay in bed, euphoric, awash in the afterglow, high on endorphins. So, here I sit, fumbling about in an ineffectual attempt to capture this gamut of emotion, this physical manifestation of achievement, this epic sense of accomplishment, while apparently stoned out of my gourd. And it would seem that not only do endorphins make me high as a kite, they give me serious munchies. So, I think I will go eat, again. Later in the day, when I am possibly a bit more grounded, I will endeavor to write a more comprehensive accounting of what has been one of the greatest days of my life. I think I will be hungry for days.