Next Time We Meet

In 12 hours, I’ll be on my way to the airport to catch my flight to San Fransisco. Can you believe it’s time?! I can’t.

We had our last training on Tuesday, a simple 2.5 miles around the park. We talked about things like if I should wear my fuel belt (still undecided), if I should drink the Gatorade (apparently it will really mess me up since I haven’t trained with it), how to avoid having to pee while running, how much sleep I can get by on, and many other small things that could add up to making or breaking the race, really.

Teammates who ran the Chicago Marathon last weekend were back to tell their tale. It was a terrible race — the weather was unforgiving. But the way they each managed to work through it was an inspiration. And their stories about how our coaches helped them out made me feel grateful that I will have them on my race.

My last physical therapy session was today. I had a really strange feeling when I walked in. I won’t be going back after the race and hopefully I won’t need to go if I train for another event. Hopefully, I’m all fixed up.

The time I spent in physical therapy — at least once, sometimes twice a week — was always a mixed bag. It was where I got to talk through all the anxieties I had about my knee to someone who would not only listen, but could offer concrete advice and tell me what I needed to do. So, the physical therapy office is both a place where I can recall all my anxieties and where I was calmed, most of the time at least.

Everyone there wished me luck. I didn’t leave excited, not even as my physical therapist hugged me and rah-rah-rahed me out the door. I’m not really excited any more. I’m in this weird calm place. I’m pretty much in denial of what’s about to happen because when I think about what’s about to happen, I think:

I could have trained harder. I should have done more recovery runs. I should have ran more on my own instead of relying so much on team runs. I should have kept icing my knee regularly these last couple weeks.

This isn’t to say I don’t feel ready. I have no doubt that I will cross the finish line. I’m ready. I just wish I felt ready-er.

I also have no doubt that I will cry. Whatever. It’s going to happen. I’m mostly curious as to when it will happen. I’m hoping it will be more like crazy-happy-excited, I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this crying. And if it comes at the end, I hope it’s after they take my finishing picture.

I also just realized that this is likely my last post before the marathon, which is also making me feel strange and sappy. Like the marathon is this line and once I cross it there’s no turning back. Everything I wrote and write now is the before.

I didn’t have to keep a blog but I’m really glad I did. It forced me to really think a lot of this through, and because of that I think it’s been an even better experience. Thanks for tagging along and for all the comments and messages and notes.

Next time we meet, I’ll be in with the 1%-ish of people who complete an endurance event in their life time. Or, more simply, I’ll have bragging rights for the rest of my life.

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