When did training for a 26.2 mile run become classified as fun?

Yesterday, my husband ran a marathon. When did training for a 26.2 mile run become classified as fun? The only marathon I ever competed in was a marathon session of the flu, during which I stayed awake for 96 hours while each successive child became sick since my husband was on a business trip. But now, is our life so awful that running 26.2 miles is less miserable than being at home?

What happened to our dreams from when we were young? If you ask a kid, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, none of them will respond with, “Upper middle management. And frustrated enough to run from here to the state border.”

I vaguely recall telling someone in elementary school that I was going to command a nuclear submarine when I grew up. I think it was a product of The Hunt for Red October. Turns out I’m relatively insubordinate and extremely claustrophobic, so submariner is not the career choice for me. But I loved to dance and sing. As an adult, there aren’t many socially acceptable opportunities to dance other than a little sway in a club. I haven’t sung a note since high school, unless you count my concerts in the shower.

As I young adult, I harassed my parents to relax constantly and couldn’t figure out what they did all the time. “You just work. You don’t have homework,” I’d snarl, wondering, how bad could it be? All I wanted was to be an adult. Now I know. It’s all homework. The work day is just the money to support the homework.

I wanted everything I have. I know that. I’m lucky. This is the life I picked, one tiny choice at a time. But being an adult is frustrating, even when you want everything you have. One of my favorite lines from my book is:

“The life we built together has become our cage, a gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless.”

My husband even designed a tattoo for me to commemorate it. I wrote my book to daydream and retreat from our life in my mind. Today, I’m proud of my husband for escaping the cage and denying reality (or his 40th birthday), if only for a while to challenge himself. I also thank him for proving that I should win every argument by default. No sane person runs 26.2 miles voluntarily.