Marathon time for me is like Christmas time for most little kids. No matter how prepared or unprepared I am, the excitement is still always almost too much to handle. In a little less than 48 hours, we will be lining up at the start line of a very long, rewarding, journey. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I toe that line, the excitement is still there, along with fear, anxiety, and joy. These days I pretty much know what Santa is going to have for me under the tree at Christmas, but I do not know what the marathon gods will have in store for me come race day. The fear and anticipation of the unknown is what keeps me awake in bed the night before, as if I were a child waiting to see if I could hear Santa on the roof. Also like the little kid, I try hard to sleep because Santa won't come if he sees you awake, just as the marathon gods might not be nice to you if you don't show up at the start adequately rested. While the journey to the finish line is a little longer than the journey down the hall to see what Santa has left, the anticipation of what awaits at the end still overjoys me. Not once have I been disappointed in what awaited me at the finish line because it has always been so much more than just a few numbers on a clock overhead.