There are two kinds of runners in this world:
- The ones who casually sign up for a local 5K.
- And the ones who somehow end up sitting in Louisville, Kentucky, refreshing two different marathon portals on two different continents like it’s the Olympics of Anxiety.
Guess which one I am.
Right now, I’m in the world’s most chaotic waiting room — the kind where the magazines are outdated, the chairs squeak, and the receptionist keeps saying, “We’ll call your name soon,” but you know she’s lying.
Except in my case, the receptionist is NYRR and Howler, and the magazines are just my browser tabs judging me.
The NYC Virtual Selection
Somewhere in the digital universe, the New York Road Runners are deciding whether I get a golden ticket into the 2026 TCS New York City Virtual Marathon — which, if chosen and completed, unlocks the real prize: a guaranteed entry into the 2027 in‑person NYC Marathon.
It’s like The Bachelor, but instead of roses, they hand out bib numbers and heartbreak.
And come drawing date, I will be non‑stop checking my email — the same way you wait for a text from a man who absolutely does not deserve this level of attention.
The Cape Town Marathon Ballot
And then there’s Cape Town — the brand‑new World Marathon Major. The one I had to fight my bank, my browser, and possibly the entire South African financial system to enter.
At one point, Howler showed I had three entries. Three. As if I was trying to run the race three times back‑to‑back like some kind of unhinged ultramarathoner.
Two were “Pending Payment.”
One was “Pending.”
None of them were “Calm Down, Tammy.”
But after a small international incident with my bank, one ballot entry finally stuck. So now I’m officially in the running for Cape Town — and unofficially in the running for a stress‑induced nap.
The Girl Inside Me vs. My Bank Account
Somewhere in my fight against paying the outrageous prices for race entry fees is the girl in me who still dreams of running all the World Marathon Majors someday. She’s been around for years — stubborn, hopeful, and absolutely convinced that I’m destined to collect all seven stars like some kind of marathon Pokémon master.
But then there’s the other side of me…
The practical, bill‑paying, coupon‑clipping woman who loves nice things, like electricity and running water, who looks at these entry fees and says, “Ma’am. Please. We have groceries to buy.”
These two versions of me are in a constant cage match: Keep my money vs. Chase the dream.
So here I am, letting both versions of myself sit in the corner and argue over money and logic. But honestly? The dreamer girl has the edge. She’s got positivity, a dash of delusion, and a four‑leaf clover tucked behind her ear, sitting there with her fingers and toes crossed as she awaits the fate of her hopes and dreams. And while she fully understands she’ll be living on bologna sandwiches for the next seven years to pay for those hopes and dreams, she accepts that fate with a smile — because that’s the price of chasing something big.
The Countdown
Both decisions drop in seven days. Seven. As in:
- Seven days of refreshing
- Seven days of overthinking
- Seven days of imagining myself running along Table Mountain
- Seven days of wishful thinking that I’ll be completing the NYRR Virtual Marathon in 2026
- Seven days of imagining myself crying on the Verrazzano Bridge in 2027
- Seven days of my bank account doing squats, lunges, and deadlifts preparing for the financial impact
This is the part of the marathon journey nobody talks about.
Not the training.
Not the race.
Not the medal.
But the waiting — the pins‑and‑needles purgatory where hope and chaos hold hands.
Why I’m Writing This Now
Because this moment matters. This is the emotional roller coaster of the “before” chapter — the part where we sit on pins and needles, biting off what’s left of our fingernails while double‑checking our bank accounts to make sure all the monies are lined up and ready to finance our upcoming debts.
It’s the part of the dream where anything could happen… and the part where you absolutely refuse to let doubt creep in, no matter how loudly it knocks.
In seven days, I’ll write the follow‑up: “The Results Are In…” And whether it’s YES or NO, it’ll be part of the story.
But today? Today I’m sitting on pins and needles — delusionally dreaming and laughing at the absurdity of it all, reminding myself that chasing big dreams is supposed to feel a little wild.
The Emotional Fine Print
The stink of a ‘no’ will surely shatter me. However, I do have my big‑girl panties at the dry cleaners — cleaning and pressing for the big news.
Whether I’ll need them or not is a story still to come.
After all… this is Every Damn Mile.
Every Damn Mile 