Who knew?

I had an epiphany today at the bookstore. It was one of those lightbulb moments that can either be life altering or it could be something you forget when the Taco Bell lady asks for your order. I figured out that at 34 years of age and a well-marbled 252 pounds, it looks like I am never going to be a crime-fighting Superhero. What the hell? How does this happen? One minute you're 12 and cruising through life trying to decide how the ninja skills you've acquired over a summer break can be put to the best use, and the next thing you know, you are 34 and trying to figure out if you want to wear khakis or corduroy to work the next day. This was not how things were supposed to turn out. Sure I have the great wife and wonderful kids, but when was the last time the guys from Skynyrd called me up on stage to add a little special something to Freebird? Looks like I'm never going to be the best at something. Anything. I'm hoping this marathon is going to change that. None of the friends I have now have ever known me to be an athlete. I'm to the point now where I barely remember. What was it like to play 3 hours of pickup basketball on a Sunday, softball on Monday and Thursday, and then squeeze in a 2 man volleyball tournament on Saturday morning? Once upon a time, I knew. Once I was the man. Maybe it was just in my head, but back then I had at least one believer. Me. Maybe I can get a little of that back. Maybe I can be a superhero to at least one 7 year old boy at my house who doesn't know any better. Maybe the journey to the 26.2 miles will be that spark that I need. Because the race isn't what is important. 26 miles, 385 yards is nothing. On race day, you have thousands of running buddies and thousands of fans cheering for you. Anyone can run on race day. It's the hundreds of miles you run by yourself leading up to that point that mold you. Cold and dark, hot and sunny. Lonely miles. Can I be the person I want to be? I guess we will see.