Anne walked into the house yesterday afternoon, and said, “Will you set up the computer for me, so I can write the marathon story?”
“Yes. Yes I can,” I said. “The natives have been growing restless.”
“I know,” she said. “I finally have some time to do it.”
I pulled myself up off the floor, where I’ve spent much of the last two days with a very painful lower back, and did as she asked.
We’re going to link in some pictures and stuff, but I absolutely can’t sit here longer than a minute or so before I feel like I’m going to cry from the pain, so the full story won’t come out until Monday.
Until then, here’s a little bit of her entry:

In all our training, we were able walk 13 miles and feel great. So I figured when we did the marathon, it might be a bit tiring, but such a thrill to be there that it wouldn’t matter. Boy, was I wrong. By the time we reached that oh-so-exciting 13.1 mile marker (that would be the half way point for those of you keeping score at home) I was completely exhausted. “Half way!” I said as we approached the sign. Of course, the people around us probably thought I was excited but the truth was, I was pissed that I felt so terrible and it was only have way done. Or halfway left. However you want to look at it.
Wil and I both went through waves of feeling great and feeling like we couldn’t go on over the next ten miles. Of course, when Wil was feeling great, I had to listen to him make up songs about keeping our head up and our shoulders back. Mmm. That was nice. But when I was feeling really wiped out and in pain, I just kept saying, “This is nothing compared to seven days of radiation or a month of chemo.” Then I felt like such a chump for even complaining at all.

Have a great weekend, everyone, and check back on Monday for the full post.