Rain in Maine in May

A week after I ran my marathon in November, I get a text from my little brother. "Wanna run a marathon in Maine in May?" it asked. "You're crazy," I said. "I just ran one. No way am I ready to run another one." For me, running a marathon is kind of like giving birth. Both are horrible and awful, and the only good thing is crossing the finish line/holding your baby. You swear you will never do it again, but later, as the memories of the pain fade, you get it into your mind that maybe it wasn't so bad, and maybe you could do another one. It was this reason that three years passed between my kids and four years between my marathons.

So, because years hadn't passed, and I could still very much remember the pain from the marathon, I was not ready to sign up to run another one in six months. But, I did tell William that I would consider running the Sugarloaf Mountain 15K instead of the Sugarloaf Mountain Marathon. William proceeded to recruit people to run the marathon with him. My dad. My uncle. Cory said he had always wanted to visit Maine, so he agreed to run the 15K with me. We signed up. We got plane tickets. My mom agreed to watch the girls while we were gone. It was set. It was planned. Then ...