Six weeks. It will go fast.
I couldn’t be more excited. And, less prepared. Who cares?
We take ourselves way too seriously anyway.
The goal is very pure and simple. Cross the finish line of the Boston Marathon before the sweepers start prodding my ass with their brooms and waving me off the course. I believe I have six hours, 15 minutes.
I lay in bed last night having woken from a dream about running in Boston. It was a good and positive dream where I was smiling with each step. As I often do, I thought about how my body felt at that moment laying in bed and it felt good. Whole. Nothing hurt. I thought back to the few weeks post injury and how my hip would throb band my leg muscles would twitch uncontrollably. Truth be told, mine was a tired and worn out body begging for a rest.
I’ve said it before and I'll say it again, if we don’t take care of ourselves willingly, then our bodies will force it upon us in the form of injury, illness, fatigue, irritability, you name it.
I’ve got a plan for the next six weeks.
That’s it, you ask? Yes, that’s it. Not overly impressive, but safe. Very safe. Yes, it’s true I might be crying in pain and fatigue by mile 16, but so be it. Certainly, I could crap myself but that goes without saying.
At this point in marathon training I’m usually stressed. Will I meet my time goal? Will I bonk? It’s all ego driven crap, really. This time, I’ve accepted limitations. When I run, I visualize being on the course, having the experience I’ve been waiting for. It’s not about time and pace because it can’t be this go round.