I’m sitting in Kenosha with an entire day ahead of me. In my
regular life of Go! Go! Go!, it’s a bit unsettling to have this much time and
nowhere to be. Nothing to think about
but marathon: What will the weather be
like? What pace should I try? Will the crowd be awe-inspiring or
claustrophobic? Is it possible to
perform well in an enormous field? How
will I handle the hours of pre-race waiting in Grant Park?
I’ve been thinking about the race two different ways. On one hand, it’s just a race. I will run Chicago and I will finish it. And much of it will be fun. Getting to this point has been no small
feat. The training season has been
packed full of emotion for me. I can’t
tell you how many Monday night runs this spring and summer were met with
crippling guilt. Or how many post-run
highs were deflated by not seeing Baby before he went to sleep. In the end, I know I made the right choices. I have no regrets. Still, this has been a new layer of training
that I haven’t dealt with before. And in
light of that, a finish would be a big win.
On the other hand, I feel like I have something to prove. I managed to step away from the drama in the
last several weeks and my training took off.
The peak of which was a steamy Monday night in mid-September. Susan and I ran 5 miles at sub-marathon pace
in 95 degree heat and 150 percent humidity.
We. Nailed. It. I felt like a
warrior after that. Completely
invincible. I can do anything now. I can run half mile repeats and continue to
cross that line at the exact right second.
What a rush!
Admittedly, I’m chasing the ghost of my 32-year old self, a
version of me that had 2 non-stop years of top-quality training behind
her. My 34-year old self has been
training sporadically, sleeping a lot less, and juggling a lot more. It’s not a fair fight by any means. But I still have the same drive. I still have the same ultimate goal. And I know the difference a few seconds can
make.
Bring it, Chicago. I’ll
be the underdog.
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