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With only six days to go until the marathon, I’m in full taper mode. I’m pretty sure I’m coming down with Malaria and have several stress fractures in my left foot. Or at the very least I’ve got some parasite that will cause me to spontaneously crap and lose feeling in my legs come Sunday.
For sure, I’ve got butterflies.
When I tell non-running people I’m feeling some nerves about the race, they always say the same thing, “You’ll do fine. You can run that far, you’ve done it before.” What they don’t get is that the distance is not the issue. I could lace up my shoes and go out and run 26.2 miles right now if I wanted to. The issue is I have a way in which I want to run the race. I’ve got time goals. Friends, I have plans!!! Plans that I do not want thwarted by blisters, snow, crappy pants, the need to pee, cramps, or any other issues the running gods want to throw at me.
Having plans reminds me of talking to my OB in my last month of pregnancy. I told him how the birth was going to go. He stood there, smirking, shaking his head. He said something like, “That all sounds great. But be prepared to throw it out the window at any moment because anything can happen.” Isn’t there some saying about God laughing when we make plans?
The doc was spot on. I never anticipated soiling the delivery table numerous times or the epidural not taking or my son being sunny side up instead of face down (eggs anyone?), or all that blood or baby having to be suctioned out by some crazy vacuum like device causing him to look like a conehead from SNL in the 80s. But it all worked out anyway, and was one of the best days of my life. Sunny side up is 12 years old now, and the way it went on that October day years ago was perfect.
Here’s what I know: I’ve put in the time. I’ve done the work. I am strong. I am fit. I cannot control the weather. I cannot control my unpredictable bowels. I can, however, expect the best and remember the point of it all: I love to run, and if I lose sight of that, the big picture, I’ve got nothing.