Marathon No. 6 is on Sunday. S-i-x. And I'm sort of all nervous and OMG-ish, not because I'm afraid of it, but because I've set a goal. I am a woman hellbent. Somehow I've got to find those 7 minutes that escaped me last time when I ran a 4:07 and eat them. I. Must. Break. Four. Hours.

I'm not playin' around this time, dammit. There will be no picture-taking. I will not tweet. I won't even HAVE my BlackBerry, you guys. I KNOW. Clearly I mean business.

(First thing I'm doing when I cross the finish line, however, is one of two things: grabbing my BlackBerry and tweeting, or jumping off a bridge. To be determined by the finish line clock).

AJ's shooting for a 3:55. I'm shooting for sticking with her, even if it means jumping on her very small back and forcing her to carry me. (Hi, AJ! Hope you don't mind!) She and I ran our very first marathon together four years ago. In Chicago we just wanted to survive. This time we're on a mission to destroy.

Just so you know.

I'm all packed up and hitting the road to Michigan in the morning. I've packed enough marathon gear to run 26.2 miles or to survive for 36 days on a deserted island. Seriously. Why is packing so hard? I'm all, "How about I just pack EVERYTHING I OWN JUST IN CASE!!" You just never know when you might need everything you own all in one weekend.

I'd tell the marathon to BRING IT. But that's unnecessary because clearly I'm already bringing everything. Literally.

krittabug