My body was born in Minnesota in the dead of winter to a single mother who worked damn hard to give me a good life. It was cared for and loved and given every opportunity to be a good, kind individual.
My body has survived cutting and neglect, pain and loss, change and change and more change.
My body went through basic training on a broken foot and pelvis, which was more pain than a 17 year old should have to face in a short time period, yet I persevered. And I learned so many things about myself.
I learned I can.
My body has sat on countless examining tables with doctors shaking their heads at my xrays and bone scans saying, “Your body will never run normally again.”
My body laughed at them when they told me I can’t.
The Army may have broken some of my bones, but it didn’t break my drive, and I know what my body is capable of.
This summer marks 10 years since I left for Ft. Leonard Wood, MO. 10 years since I was told no.
My body has covered more miles than I can recall. I’ve done half marathons, 10K’s, 5K’s, I feel like going out and running K’s, pushing heavy stroller K’s and look ma, no pain K’s.
In 11 days, my body will be pushing its limits and going the distance: 26.2 miles. This isn’t news. We know this. I know this, my body knows this, my brain knows this.
I’m not asking for your money anymore. A very kind individual who would like to remain anonymous already handled that for me. I met my minimum goal.
What I’m asking for is your support. Your kind words, your positive statements, your raunchy catch phrases. Anything for me to keep in my head as I run.
Someone asked me why I’m doing a marathon. I guess unless you’re in the same mind set as me, it seems silly to do this. So why? Why put my body through this?
I do it because someone once told me I can’t. I do it because people tell me it’s crazy. I do it because I’m Cassie freaking Conti and I don’t back down once I set my mind to something. I make it my own personal goal to never let anyone down, and that includes myself.
So. Even if you’ve never commented here before, even if it’s just anonymous, please, tell me something good. Tell me I can. Tell me it’s all mental. Tell me sweat is sexy. Tell me the sky is blue. Tell me anything. Just tell me I can. Because while I know I can, a girl’s still allowed to be a little nervous.
Because I’m about to make my dreams come true, guys. And it’s starting with this. Team Lemieux. Next step? 26.2.