Once upon a time, during the era of horse and carriage, I was a college student. (OK, so it wasn't that long ago, but it definitely feels like it.) I had chosen to take a significant leap of faith at the young age of twenty. My boyfriend and I hopped on a plane to Moscow with the intent of backpacking across Europe on an unrealistically low budget. My life savings, a wad of travelers' cheques, was securely tucked into my waist wallet, which would not leave my body except for those times in which we could afford to bathe.

The two-month journey was trying; we grew tired of each other, tired of being dirty, tired of not being able to communicate, tired of being hungry, and tired of being tired.

But at the end of the trip, after I had gone home and done snow angels in the carpet for few hours (I had sorely missed the ability to touch the floor without contamination), I had no regrets about going, despite the inconveniences.

It is that attitude I wish to bring forth to the half marathon on Sunday. At the end of the race, I know I will be thrilled to have completed an unforgettable journey.