It wasn't something I'd normally do on a whim. Normal whim decisions occur in the frozen food aisle, where instead of Vanilla Bean, I get crazy and pick up Moose Tracks. But acts of physical prowess? Meh. Deciding Thursday night to run a half marathon on Saturday morning — that's serious spontaneity for me.
On Thursday afternoon, during my latest visit to Wisconsin, I decided to go for an afternoon run. Somewhere along the quiet country roads between Big Bend and Muskego, the idea took hold: why not just keep going? Why not run the whole distance — all 13.1 miles of it — and call it a half marathon?
So that's what I did. On Saturday morning, I laced up my shoes, stepped out the door at my parents' place in Big Bend, and pointed myself toward Muskego. No race bib, no cheering crowds, no aid stations — just me, the pavement, and the Wisconsin countryside rolling past.
There's something deeply satisfying about point-A-to-point-B running. You're not looping back to where you started; you're going somewhere. Every stride carries you farther from the familiar and closer to something earned. By the time I reached Muskego — where my dad's Culver's restaurant sits as a familiar landmark — I'd covered the full half-marathon distance on nothing but a Thursday-night whim and a pair of running shoes.
It wasn't fast. It wasn't glamorous. But it was mine — a spontaneous, slightly ridiculous, thoroughly memorable morning in Wisconsin.