26.2

A week ago today, I did it. 26.2 miles. My goal was to run the first 13.1, then walk/run the second half. I ran to mile 18 and then took the last 8 as they came. It wasn't fast, wasn't pretty. My time -- by most runner's standards -- was dismal.

But I was over the moon.

Many people along the way -- water station volunteers, spectators, police officers -- commented on my smile, told me how nice it was to see someone looking so happy after 20 miles.

And I was.

This marathon for me wasn't about "winning" in the traditional sense. It was about the experience, the journey. It was about seeing the smiling faces of my beloved husband and kids every six miles. It was about having my 14-year-old whisper in my ear as he ran beside me, "You've got this. You can do this." It was about smiling for Brian's camera so he could record this very important day of my life -- the one he so graciously chose to share with us. It was about hearing my friends cheer for me as I approached mile 26, and then having them run me to the finish line. It was about listening to a song on my iPhone that made me think of a very special person in my life. It was about greeting strangers along the way, encouraging them on their journey, congratulating them on their accomplishments. It was remembering and holding closely all the notes, cards, emails, text messages, care packages, and well-wishes from my dear friends and relatives.

Most people will never run a marathon in their lives.

I enjoy knowing I'm not like most people.

My friend, Shmee, wrote a brilliant blog post about gingerbread people and how they are so very ordinary. It's easy to be a gingerbread man, simple to do what's expected of you, safe to do what everyone else is doing.

I'm ready to be different, to do something unexpected, to take the path less traveled.

Less than 1% of the world's population ever completes a marathon. I want to continue to run with them.

Don't get me wrong -- I have no desire to complete another marathon. Friends told me I'd be hooked, that I'd want to continue spending my Saturdays doing 20-mile training runs. I've not yet felt that urge. Nor do I expect to. But I do want to break the mold, live authentically, focus on what truly matters in this life.

The failure of a school corporation referendum in our town has forced us into examining our personal situation, of accepting the reality of what the future holds (or doesn't hold) for us here, to create a Plan B. I believe that everything happens for a reason. And although I'm not quite self-centered enough to think that God smote our town with dissension and discord so the Willis's could determine their true path in life, I think He most definitely gave us some new material to work with.

And so, as we stride with assurance into our 40s, we get to make some big decisions and chart a course that most would consider a little off-kilter, a bit against the norm. Shmee, we're casting aside our gumdrop buttons and joining the less than 1% who follow the "traditional" path in life.

Just like my marathon pace, I intend to take this one in stride -- to enjoy the view along the way, to look forward to seeing the bright and shining faces of my family and friends, to smile at and thank the strangers along the way.

I doubt this journey will cause me to lose another toenail, but I believe the adventures in store will be even more unexpected, even more exciting. Will they be painful, too? Possibly. But I've pulled my own damaged toenail off with a pair of tweezers.

I can do anything.