Two Days til Chicago

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.