It's Race Week

Wow. It's race week.

I think I signed up for this bad boy way back in February. Long before I printed out that pink training schedule that I've looked at every single day since. Long before I ever put in my first double digit milage workout. Long before I ever imagined that I would actually go through with actually training for it…

And well, it's almost here.  Race day is officially in the ten day forecast on my weather app.  This "poop" is gett'n real folks.

I am again filled with so many emotions. Highs and lows. Fears and excitements. So much dread and demons of doubt. Satan is so busy chipping away at my confidence and my self worth… convincing me that yet again, in yet another area of my life… I am not enough. I’m not athletic enough. I’m not strong enough. I’m not fast enough. I haven’t trained enough. If I have to walk I won’t be fast enough. If I don’t finish I won’t be endurant enough.

Part of me actually carries a confidence that I will be able to run and complete this race on Sunday. Part of me has a set little secret race pace number in the back of my mind that I want to complete it in. Part of me is fighting that number disparately praying to add at least thirteen more minutes on to it. Part of me is fearful of this confidence, afraid of the failure that might unexpectedly still overcome me. What if I don’t finish? What if I don’t complete it? What if something in my body gives out, what if my mind shuts down and gives up the fight of will vs might? What if… what if… what if…

Oh I’m good at that “what if…” game! I have a mind with a million scenarios continually in play, pause, repeat… over and over and over again. And I’m getting really good at trying to downplay the importance and significant and magnitude of what this day, this race, actually means to me deep down, deep within. I’m finding myself at a point that I don’t even want to talk about it, I don’t want to post anything on social media about it, I don’t want to allow myself to even think about it. Downplay, underplay, hide… and then if I do do badly it maybe won’t be as big, as noticeable, as devastating.

Right now my left hip hurts. My right shoulder hurts. My left ankle has this odd little twinge in it. I have this weird something that just materialized between two of my toes. My bunions are bothering me. The vacuum fell out of the closet this morning and the handle landed across the top foot bone of my right foot. And the forecast… well the forecast continues to look colder and wetter and windier every time of look at it.

I don’t do running in cold, and wet, and wind. Especially 13.1 miles in cold, and wet, and wind. It’s just another knife jab at my already high dread and anxiety level. And did I mention that rumor has it that they are expecting over ten thousand people to be part of this event this weekend. I will need to mill and mingle in a crowd of ten thousand people. That about does this introverted non-runner's little anxiety level in.

And if I’m honest, there’s also a part of me that is already quietly wondering about that whole “what’s next” question… What is next for me? I started training for this race over a half a year ago… I’ve cycled through that pink training sheet three times since then. Once I ran the 13.1 distance. When I got to that day in the training schedule for the second time I decided to run / walk 3:1 for the distance of a full 26.2 marathon. And then I cycled through it all one more time… one more time, which has brought me to today. What will I do next week? Will I quit running? Will I gain all the weight back that I’ve lost?

After today is three more quick days… three more days and I will wake up and have to face a cold, possibly miserable morning of running of all ungodly things. Running. Why in heaven’s name did I think I should do this… that I COULD even do this?!? What was I thinking!?! Oh dear heavens I wish I was still a quitter… still one that could easily allow myself to stand back and watch rather than dive in and move from spectator to participant.

Participant. Yes, I will be one of the thousands standing out there at the start line with a little white piece of paper carefully pinned to the front of my shirt. On Sunday, I will merely be a number lost and restless in the sea of faces and feet.

No one there will be watching me. No on there will be on the sidelines cheering me on. No one other than myself will actually really care one iota about the fact that I am even running in this race.

So why am I even doing this?!? That seems to be the million dollar question right now… The sticky icing on the sweet cake layer below. Why am I even doing this?!?!

The black and white answer of course is … well, because I can. I have two legs, ten toes, two arms, and all the other muscles and bones from the tip of my head to the tip of my toes that are all capable to function together as one, to get me from point A to point B… which will just happen to be 13.1 miles apart. I have a body that is, for the most part, healthy and able to move together. I have a mind that is for the most part healthy and able to drive my body to move together. I have a reason to celebrate, a reason to work hard, a reason to move forward, a reason to attempt to accomplish.

But is that the real reason? I actually have no idea. I made a friend through this process… a friend who is going to actually be running out there with me. I’m maybe not doing it for her, but I am definitely grateful to be doing it with her. Am I doing it for myself, to prove something to myself? Am I doing it for someone else, to prove something to them? Am I doing it for God, to prove myself through honor and celebration to Him? Again, I honestly don’t know the answer. (I'm assuming it's probably a little colorful combination of all three.)

And while I maybe don't know exactly why it is I'm running, I do know that I am more than likely actually going to attempt to run it. Regardless of the weather conditions, regardless of the mental state of my mind, or the physical state of my body… I’m fairly certain I am going to arrive, get my race packet, and stand at the start line with a mob of others. Will I finish? Will I finish well? Will I be happy with my finish? Only time will tell… Only time will tell. And really, it’s only me, myself, and I that I am left to battle that out with.

Until then, I will continue forward planning and packing and attempting to get a family ready to be without a mom and wife for just a few days… you know that whole game of working like a dog to get a tiny bit ahead before you walk out the door, because you know without a shadow of a doubt you will walk back in that same door two days later and immediately be so incredibly behind.

Moms going away is rarely worth it… and all this to go away to run in a long, hard, horrible race. Seriously what in the world was I thinking? If I was a quitter I’d back out now, before even leaving town. But I don't want to be the quitter that I sometimes can be… Today I will choose to carry on with this plan that I’ve been working towards for days and weeks and months. Today I will go along with the flow…

I will pack the bags, pack the shoes, pray the prayers, battle the demons, and hopefully simply get myself to that terrifying start line by 7:59 a.m. Sunday morning.

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