Last weekend, as I finished up what was certainly my longest bike ride to date, I asked my cycling companion how far we had gone.
He consulted his trusty bike computer, which tell hims not only the distance but also the time and rate of speed, and said casually, "26.2 miles."
My head whipped around and I looked at him. "26.2 miles? Like, a marathon?"
He admitted that the distance, the actual number, didn't strike him as significant until I mentioned it.
I, on the other hand, immediately thought of the marathon. And quickly -- almost instantly -- was reminded that in a few months I'd be running that entire distance.
Even on a bike it seemed far. I'd be running that?
I thing is, I know I can't psyche myself out by making those types of comparisons. I know I shouldn't even try to imagine myself running the route we cycled. But I can't help it.
And I just can't seem to escape little reminders about the upcoming -- and somewhat daunting -- 26.2 miles.
Just yesterday, after a long day setting up a show for work, I stepped outside the theater (which happens to be right on the Manchester Marathon route) and saw this: