I’m running 13.1 miles on Sunday.
The last time I ran 13.1 miles was February 20, 2011. This race. LAST year. Only last year I had trained for something like twelve weeks. I had run on the actual race course. I had done hill drills. I had visualized a perfect performance. I was prepared. Now going back and reading my thoughts after completing that race last year, it strikes me that the two primary things I learned from running that race were:
- It. Can. Be. Done; and
- Don’t be Timid.
Funny, because as I was sitting down to right this I was thinking: (1) Can this be done?; and (2) I don’t think it can. I’m working really hard right now, in this the eleventh hour, not to beat myself up about signing up for a race without training for it. It’s weird to have a goal that is NOT to log the very best time I’ve ever logged for this distance. The goal for this one is to just do it: to just dosomething to get going; to get off the couch, to get out of the cubicle, to get out from under the funk.
I keep feeling a twinge of panic thinking: What if I can’t run the whole thing without stopping to walk? Silly, really, since I can guaran-dang-tee that I will not run the whole thing without stopping to walk. Even considering doing that under my best training conditions would likely have been ill-advised, so to think of that as a feasible, workable, or even healthy goal is just plain incorrect. Each time I feel that little back-of-the-knee-mosquito-bite-itch of panic about my race-day performance, instead of scratching it (Mom was right: It only makes it worse.), I swab on the pink calamine relief of the mantra: Your still lapping everyone on the couch. Dang right.
All I really care about is:
- Getting out of the blobby discomfort zone of not racing;
- Not dying;
- or Puking;
- Having enough rocking jams to make it 2.5 hours; and
- Feeling strong.
See you on the finish line; I’ll be the one with the medal.