Years and years ago, a Greek runner made a mad dash to tell the outcome of a battle. He ran an ungodly distance in a short time, never pausing, and upon reaching his destination yelled a single word "Victory" before collapsing dead. The battle was that of Marathon, to which the race gained its name, and has been used since to signify any long distance goal achieved in a single session.
Tonight I sat down with a little under 2,000 words on paper already and muscled my way through the first draft of my story for the Unspeakable Horrors anthology. It needs work, but the first draft turned out well. Tomorrow I'll be sending it out to get an edit from some friends of mine, then I'll be sitting down to do the rewrite, another edit, and get it packaged up and sent out.
So there we go.
I feel tired, worn, and accomplished at this exact moment in time.