"It’s a treat being a runner, out in the world by yourself with not a soul to make you bad-tempered or tell you what to do." - Alan Sillitoe

Today is Thursday, September 25, 2014. In three days (ummm I need to pack, whoa), I will be embarking on my fourth international vaca extraordinaire, the second of which is totes solo and wanderlustingly loner-esque. YAY, LIFE. It was tough for me to get excited about this vaca too soon, because it comes at the heels of (and in rewarding myself for) running my first full marathon this past weekend in Omaha. Barring a panicked moment in which I thought my rebelling toenails and blinding running blisters would stop me from running this past weekend, I ran (jogged.... walked a few times.... took my shoe off at one point... whatever) my first full marathon and couldn't be happier (that it's over). Ask me in about a month, when the memory of feeling like an exhausted dehydrated Simba in the African desert about to die and be eaten by vultures eventually fades, if I will ever do another marathon. Shoutout to my sister and brother-in-law for rescuing me with Gatorade and water and Vito high-fives, Timon and Pumba-style at miles 19 and 21.

I now have to pack many months' worth of getting totally psyched for another amazing out-of-my-comfort-zone international adventure into seven measly days. I also have to convince my body to recover rapidly from the 26.2 miles of awkward jog/walk/run/crying I did Sunday morning (and afternoon if you're getting technical and making fun of how long it took me). For the record, seven days is  not nearly ample time to jazz oneself on the horizon of a tangible vacation. My goal for Thursday is to start packing, aka lay out all the garments I intend to bring, realize I am backpacking and have to carry everything everywhere ever for always, cut the volume of garments in half, and decide what to sacrifice in order to make room for hostel shower shoes.

One thing about life (LIVE-LAUGH-LOVE, am I right?), as I see it and as it is running through my head at this current moment, is this: do what makes your heart FREAK OUT. Every time someone asks me about my trip, I have to stop my idiotic face muscles from turning my mouth in a creepily big Grinch-style grin, and I instinctively rub my hands over my arms to proactively warms the inevitable chills I get when I think about it. All week I have had the distinct pleasure of saying "this time next week I will be.....(insert awesome itinerary plot point here)", and subsequently doing a leprechaun-esque jig out of excitement. So, at this time next week, I will be spending my first night in Jerusalem, probably getting ready to wake up early the next morning to walk the Via Dolorosa, or the Way (Stations) of the Cross, before the city wakes up. Pause for inevitable sigh. Pause for inevitable creepy Grinch smile.

Shout-out to the rest of my beloved people who met me at the finish line of the Omaha marathon, signs of encouragement and rented bikes in tow. The people who keep me entertained and encouraged on the sidelines or end of any long race are my saving grace.