The halfway Point

So I stole the story below direct from a friend of mine's facebook page, but I had to get it out there cause I think its really great, and I don't imagine most of you know her.

She and I as well were on the same plane of thought, sort of bumming at the halfway point of our Peace Corps service. Its like when you realize you have to do THE ENTIRE thing all over again. And her mom sent her this message.

But I think it rather applies to halfway points in life/work/jobs wherever. So I hope you enjoy it as much as I do and get something out of it.
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i was doing some more free association with the marathon-as-lifeanalogy. you're not really at mile 21, are you? you're dead on mile13, the halfway mark. mile 13 is a bitch. all the half-marathoners are finishing up, and going off into the finish chute on the left, and getting their medals, and high-fiving, and drinking a cold one and taking their frickin shoes off and massaging theys feets, and you're going straight ahead onto mile 14. that's the place where you have to make a firm decision, plant it in your head that you're gonna finish this bitch, hell or high water, one foot in front of the other, twice what you've already done, how the holy hell are you going to manage that hey it doesnt matter one foot in front of the other it doesnt matter im here to finish.
once you get beyond all the half-marathon guys, you begin to see other (for me) back-of-the-pack old broads chugging it out, asses flapping, this look on their face that says im in it,motherfuckers, im in the game and watch me dance! and f everyone else that think im too old too fat too weeny too ugly too fillintheblank that think i cant watch me now! one foot in front of the other. we find solace in our amigos on the road. the 75year old power-walking lady with the long blue denimskirt on and her hair in a kerchief, all wrinkled and leathery from too much sun, wisps of white hair all wet on her forehead and in front of her ears, pumping her arms in a steady time, one foot in front of the other march march march on and on. the young fat guy with the purple face with a belly all chafed from his 4X gym shorts, blisters all over his feet, moving forward, on and on, like a big butted boulder being shoved down the pike by an invisible wind.
you become part of the river, united by this strange and tortured menagerie of folk, moving ondown the stream of humanity, all one bound in some amalgam of heart and soul and sweat and dreams and nightmares and being put down over and over by the normal people and finally putting sail to your dream in to the no mans dead zone of miles 13 through 16, hanging on by sheer grit and determination to wrest reality from your puny little insignificant life to become a hero in your own heart, nothing to prove to anyone but yourself that you love you enough to finish the race, remembering Hebrews "let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us"and hoping that the angels will carry you on their wings because that little voice in your ear is surely the devil telling you to stop, take a break, lie down, just stop a minute its ok, and denying the voice its temptation and willing the angels wings to float you above your body so that you can move on with the river of weirdos moving toward a higher plane.
then comes mile 17, and its single digits, and you're out of the dry parched no mans zone where theres no beginning and no end, the arid country of self doubt and humiliation, single digits now and you can count down nine to one,certainly, single digits and the end is in sight on the horizon. i have persevered i have struggled through my self doubt and the tears are streaming down my face because for the first time in the last five miles i see the finish line and i am certain i am sure i am rapturous i am joy itself because i know in my heart of hearts that i will finish i am i am i am whole and complete and utterly awesomely courageously OKAYin this moment.

youre at mile 13 cimz and its supposed to suk. thats what it feels like.