She was right.
She told me that I would like it. I told her she was crazy, no one likes that.
She told me that I should consider doing it again. I told her I was going to survive it once, and would live off the glory of finishing it, and once was enough for me.
She told me it was addicting. I told her I was not addicted to pain and torture.
She told me the feeling is amazing. I told her don't live off your feelings; they are crazy.
She told me to at least consider the idea of the possibility of doing it again. Not only did I knock that idea down, but I dragged across my living room floor, opened the door, and pitched it out to the street.
She told me not to say never. I told her not in this life time.
She told me most people start at my age. I told her not the smart people.
She told me after you cross the finish line it makes you look to the next starting line. I told her the starting line looks like hell on earth.
Then I did it.
And she was right.
Philly, here I come.