What’s next?
Inevitably it’s the question asked when you reach an ending.
Senior year of high school – what’s next? College, job, military service, a gap year? What’s next?
Quitting a job – what’s next? Got something lined up? Writing the great American novel? The great Australian novel?
Dating somebody? What’s next? Marriage? Kids? Break up?
Run a marathon? What’s next? Another? How about the 50 states? The seven continents? The Road Movies of Hope and Crosby and Lamour?
Much I’ve never done, but I have been lucky enough to do those aforementioned race challenges. And people who know me know I’m still running. Maybe not as fast or as often as my crazed heyday.
Still, though, we all ask, “what’s next?”
Well, it’s a numbers game as ever. Arbitrary and individualistic. It means nothing yet means something.
Jacksonville was my 412th lifetime marathon. And so with 88 marathons to go, what’s next is this:
Roads? Where I’m going I need roads… And trails. And paths. And water stops. And pie. And carbo loading pasta feeds. And stability shoes for severe overpronation. And Powerade Zero. And noise. And quiet. And crowds. And solitude. And more shoes. Lots of shoes. And…