Over the past 16 weeks, I’ve mentioned to a number of people that I’m training for a marathon. And without fail they ask, “Are you running the half or the full?”
Without fail.
The fact that everyone asks for this clarification leads me to believe that there is a commonwealth of asshats who run the half marathon but refer to it in conversation as “the marathon” for short. (Because “the marathon” takes way too long to run, but “the half marathon” takes way too long to say, apparently.)
With all due respect to the half marathon, it is not a "kind" of marathon. Just like 50 cents is not a "kind" of dollar, and my middle finger is not a "kind" of friendly hand signal.
They are two different things.
That is all.
Anyway! (Bygones.) The marathon is on Saturday! So I’ve been taking it easy, sitting in my reading chair, hyperventilating, checking the weather forecast on my iPhone every ten seconds, filing lawsuits against every child who coughs or sneezes in my vicinity, pretty much overreacting to everything anyone says or does to me, because DON’T PEOPLE KNOW I’M RUNNING A MARATHON ON SATURDAY? GOD.
The marathon anxiety dreams started Sunday night, which was a little early for my taste. In Sunday night’s nightmare, I overslept and missed the start. (I dream this before every race I run. And in the dream, I am always staying in a fancy high-rise hotel. I should try staying home in my dreams. Where the sheets aren’t so nice and there is an alarm clock.) Last night I dreamed it was the night before the race and I almost forgot to put my racing bra in the dryer and it would have been sopping wet had the Scottish computer programmer from my work not been there to take it out and remind me. (Thanks, Kris!) Then the foreign exchange student who was interning at my house (because I have foreign exchange students interning at my house all the time. ALL the time.) got a horrible case of the FLU, and I was all NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! GO BACK TO AUSTRIA!
No I wasn’t. I was more like, “Oh poor you, I hope you feel better (just do it OVER THERE BEHIND THAT CLOSED BEDROOM DOOR, please, thanks.") And then I slathered my whole head in hand sanitizer.
So the whole “get a lot of good sleep” part of my taper has not been going that well, but I am trying to make up for it during the day with positive thinking.
This is where I picture myself at mile 22, grinning from ear to ear and perhaps doing a little Samba, because I’m ahead of pace and feeling SO SO GOOD.
I’m pretty sure that’s going to happen.
Without fail.
The fact that everyone asks for this clarification leads me to believe that there is a commonwealth of asshats who run the half marathon but refer to it in conversation as “the marathon” for short. (Because “the marathon” takes way too long to run, but “the half marathon” takes way too long to say, apparently.)
With all due respect to the half marathon, it is not a "kind" of marathon. Just like 50 cents is not a "kind" of dollar, and my middle finger is not a "kind" of friendly hand signal.
They are two different things.
That is all.
Anyway! (Bygones.) The marathon is on Saturday! So I’ve been taking it easy, sitting in my reading chair, hyperventilating, checking the weather forecast on my iPhone every ten seconds, filing lawsuits against every child who coughs or sneezes in my vicinity, pretty much overreacting to everything anyone says or does to me, because DON’T PEOPLE KNOW I’M RUNNING A MARATHON ON SATURDAY? GOD.
The marathon anxiety dreams started Sunday night, which was a little early for my taste. In Sunday night’s nightmare, I overslept and missed the start. (I dream this before every race I run. And in the dream, I am always staying in a fancy high-rise hotel. I should try staying home in my dreams. Where the sheets aren’t so nice and there is an alarm clock.) Last night I dreamed it was the night before the race and I almost forgot to put my racing bra in the dryer and it would have been sopping wet had the Scottish computer programmer from my work not been there to take it out and remind me. (Thanks, Kris!) Then the foreign exchange student who was interning at my house (because I have foreign exchange students interning at my house all the time. ALL the time.) got a horrible case of the FLU, and I was all NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! GO BACK TO AUSTRIA!
No I wasn’t. I was more like, “Oh poor you, I hope you feel better (just do it OVER THERE BEHIND THAT CLOSED BEDROOM DOOR, please, thanks.") And then I slathered my whole head in hand sanitizer.
So the whole “get a lot of good sleep” part of my taper has not been going that well, but I am trying to make up for it during the day with positive thinking.
This is where I picture myself at mile 22, grinning from ear to ear and perhaps doing a little Samba, because I’m ahead of pace and feeling SO SO GOOD.
I’m pretty sure that’s going to happen.
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