And it’s STUPID. Seriously, why am I nervous? Probably because I want redemption. Redemption from last year’s NYC Half where I ran on a stupid injury. And it was all pain. All pain, all the time, all 13.1 miles.
Oh yes, I have a goal. However, I’m not going to say the goal out loud for I feel if I don’t make said goal, I’ll cry into my beer come Sunday afternoon. Does that make sense? Good.
And now I’ll leave you with a motivational speech I received from Madame Walsh earlier today:
So unless you start sharting, you could conceivably run this race easy and still [EDITED FOR IT IS MY GOAL AND I DO NOT WANT TO WRITE IT ON THE INTERWEBS IN FEAR OF NOT MAKING SAID GOAL]. But probably what’s not great (especially on the sharting front) is stressing about it, since that tends to irritate the ole bowels. And yes, duh, easier said than done. But really. You ran 18 in 2:30. And not just one time either.
Okay, so you don’t get paralyzed or contract ebola. What else could go wrong? You could set out for your first mile at a 6 minute pace. That’s entirely possible. But it’s also fixable. Just like on Saturday. You see it happen, and you correct it. Don’t fall into the temptation of banking time. And if your first mile is slow, because it’s crowded or whatever, don’t be tempted to make up for it either. And anything faster than that is icing on the cake. You’re in the advantageous position of not having to overthink it, because it’s so attainable for you. So just, you know, run.
So I’ll leave it at that. I’m nervous. And. It’s. STUPID. Redemption Day, I can’t wait for you to get here so I can look you in the eye and tell you to suck it.