You wake up on marathon morning, stomach full of butterflies. Adrenaline pumping through your veins. The air feels lighter, the blood in your veins more rich.

You get ready, paying attention to the details. Glide. Deodorant. Every piece of clothing adjusted just right. You eat your first food of the day, begin to hydrate. Then you leave for the race.

And when you get there, the electricity in the air is tangible. The hum of tens of thousands of runners and their cheerleaders fills the air with an excitement that is like NO other. You snap pictures, talk with friends- and even if you're there alone, you aren't really alone because every runner there is a friend.

The national anthem is sung... and for me, it is a time when I cry and say my race prayer. The one I say before every race- big or small. The one where I ask God to give me the strength to see this through to the end with strength and dignity.

The first waves go off... you move steadily towards the starting line... towards your new destiny. Because every marathon changes you in some way, and you know that you won't be the same person at the finish line as you are at the starting line. The nervous energy continues to build as you move closer to the line. And for me, I find myself retreating into that place in my mind where my inner runner lives. I block out the world until it's just her and me. Every step moving me closer to that place where my strength lives.

And then, suddenly, it's your turn... and that line you've been flirting with for months as you train, is before you. You take that first step, and the journey begins all over again.

Toeing the line is like nothing else in this world. And Sunday, I am blessed enough to be able to do it again.