This week, I embarked upon week two of marathon training.
The race is scheduled for the first week of May and by the time I get to the coveted date, I will have ran (in theory) 462 miles...in 18 weeks.
I cannot wrap my head around this. It's 500 miles to Chicago from here. 500 miles to Denver. Not far off from how many miles my legs will take me this winter gradually building the endurance necessary to run 26.2 miles on marathon day.
And so, while I'm care taking for my three littles, folding laundry, making beds, preparing meals, supervising homework...my thoughts take me to this place...
"What the hell were you thinking?"
"That's $80 bucks and a shit load of time that you could be doing other things with."
"What if you can't hack it?"
"Stop posting this shit on Facebook...it will be that much more humiliating when you can't deliver."
And then I stop, take in a breath and remind myself of my new years resolution...fuck fear.
I'm tired of it. What a worthless feeling. Instead, I'm embracing me. The me I know can do this.
It's good to be scared, don't get me wrong. It's a phenomenal motivator. It's also a beautiful feeling on the other side when you nail that which has nailed you for so long and you realize that you are stronger than that ridiculous voice inside of your head questioning your every move.
And so, the alarm goes off at 4:30am...and believe me, it sucks...make no bones about it. It's early. It's cold. My body aches. I don't want to go. But then, I lace up my shoes, Eminem comes booming into my ears. And I go. And I am better for it. And I slowly, patiently, hopefully, tick away at the 462 training miles staring me in the face.
And each day, each time, I am changed. For the better. And fear is put back in his proper place. And later as I'm pouring coffee into my cup, icing my foot, I remember that at least for today, I could and I did.