And so it begins. The epic journey to San Diego, which I heard means "whale's vagina." Or maybe Ron Bugundy made that up. Not sure. But I take Ron Burgundy's word as gospel, so... Whale's Vagina. That's where I'm headed. As I sit here, way past my bedtime, in my friend's apartment, I can hear the planes from the nearby airport flying overheard. In something like not-so-many-hours that'll be me, high up in the sky. I hope they allow Twitter on airplanes. BECAUSE WHAT WILL I DO FOR 5 HOURS WITHOUT IT? I mean, really.

I'm pretty damn pumped for this weekend. I'm feeling great about the marathon. Everything feels right. No aches, no pains, no jitters. I received many great send-offs today in the form of candy and lunch and more candy and a pack of gum and a hug and more food and a poem, even. It's been fantastic. All the luck in the world. Mom and dad even visited my office today. Mom took pictures, see:

Why, yes, friends, that is my very own office with its perfect lighting and fantastic decor. ISN'T BEING A GROWNUP FUN?

OK, wait. Where were we? Oh. Right. We were talking about ME. Carrying on...

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go. Literally. I've got my laptop for blogging. My Droid for tweeting. My camera for pictures. My shoes for running. There's really nothing else I need. I plan to make a killer scrapbook of this whole adventure when I get back. It will be epic.

Speaking of epic, I also added up all the postcards I need to send and names I need to write on my body as a result of my killer fundraising. Twenty-five postcards will be going out and 13 names will be written in marker across my varied, exposed body parts on Sunday. Speaking of: how, exactly, does one send a postcard to New Zealand? Huh.

Anyway, it is entirely past my bedtime. Thanks for all your support, my lovely readers. Stay tuned this weekend for glorious updates straight from the whale's vagina.