The Beginning

I don't run. But I imagine it was how runners feel at the end of a long marathon.

Only for me it was just the beginning.

The clock struck 4:06 p.m. Friday. The Mac was shut down. The lip gloss applied. The chaperone/security detail was waiting for the beep beep of the Happy Honda to indicate that it was time to accompany me to the airport.

Walking out of the Catholic Herald office, all the ladies congregated around the door, like family members at the end of a marathon, cheering on their loved ones, screaming "You can do it!"

Either that, or they wanted to get one last good look at me to better help the milk carton sketch.

And so I went, off into the sunshine of a weekend filled with either promise...or non-stop awkwardness. And the second my feet hit the pavement one glaring thought kept poking at my brain,

"What on earth are you doing Amy Catherine?"

But by the grace of God, my feet kept moving. And so went the beginning of my weekend with Seth. Marked with nothing but terror and uncertainty.