In preparation for the marathon, I’ve been racking my brain
trying to remember everything I can about running these ridiculous races. Sure, I’ve done a few of these monsters
before, but not recently. I haven’t run
any shorter races in quite a while, actually.
I opted not to run the Urban Wildland Half this summer because my heart
wasn’t in it. I didn’t have the fire
back then that I do now. But here we are, two days out, and this is
what I know:
·
I will not sleep on Saturday night. That’s a given.
·
Chris will be at my side from the expo on
Saturday until he drops me off at the start corral on Sunday. He will diffuse much of my crazy and he will
smile the whole way through.
·
My nerves are going to peak at about the time I
leave the hotel on Sunday morning.
·
Affirmations in the mirror go a long way, even
if it’s in the porta-potty. I now swear
by this.
·
My emotions, whatever they are, will explode in
the minutes before the start. They will
then run the gamut over the following four hours.
·
People make all the difference in the
world. They are life-lines in the game
of running. I’m thinking of Bruce and
Victor waiting for me at the bus stop in Ashland, so we could all ride up to
the start together. I’m thinking of
Mitch and his horn blaring at mile 17 of Twin Cities, pulling me in and pushing
me onward. I’m thinking of that woman
who got me through a lot of early and middle miles at Whistlestop. I never did get her name, but I owe her a
lot. I’m thinking of Taya and Alina who kept me
company on a 15-miler when I missed the Club’s long run. I’m thinking of Susan, my pace buddy, who
helped me get my speed back. I’m
thinking of Coach Red and his rambling emails of support. He may be more invested in my success than I
am. I’m thinking of all the runners and
supporters on Facebook who have provided me endless encouragement and
entertainment. I know some phenomenal
people. I bet I’ll meet even more in the
next few days.
·
Conserving every bit of energy makes a
difference over 26 miles. Carrying
gloves instead of wearing them spends too much.
Waving at spectators spends too much.
·
At some point in the high teens, I will want to
quit. Something is going to hurt bad and
maybe even make me hobble. I will work
through this.
·
My mental state will break down more quickly
than my physical state. This amazes me
at every race. I always start out excited
and ambitious, ready to take on the world.
Eventually, the tired takes over.
It renders me incapable of figuring out splits or any level of higher
order thinking. It turns me into a
zombie. Often, it makes me hate
everything and everyone. This is when it’s
critical to have a positive mantra to repeat.
·
It is possible to run one second faster per
mile. I will do this.
·
I will cross the finish line and, if I left
everything on the course, I will feel very sick. At the same time, I will be distracted by my
medal and my pride. I will be grateful
to be done.
·
Chris will be waiting for me at the finish line,
eager to take care of me.
·
When the nausea fades, I will relish the
marathon soreness I will feel. It’s a
soreness that’s earned and even appreciated.
It’s a badge of honor.
·
Sometime on Sunday evening, I will decide which
race will be my Boston qualifier next year.
