Petrified is an understatement.
As I was falling asleep last night I sat up and looked at Kevin and said, “I should have done a 10k race before. Then I’d be more prepared.” Why? I have no idea. I’ve run nearly double the distance of a 10k during training, but for some reason I’m petrified.
Kevin told me not to do it if I didn’t feel comfortable. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: WHAT?! Not doing it is NOT an option, Kevin. I will finish. I was cross that finish line even if I have to crawl. I will drag my lifeless, fat ass, army crawl style across the god damn line. Are you serious? Not do it? What is wrong with you? I trained for 10 weeks. I ran distances I didn’t think possible. I pushed myself further than I thought possible. I’ll finish the stupid thing. I can and will finish it. Even if I die. /outraged PMS response.
Kevin: Well, that’s the spirit! If you think like that you’ll be fine.
Me: Well, I’m scared.
Me: I don’t know. The after. My feet HURT after 11 miles. You should have seen me walking. I was dying, Kevin. DYING. I felt fine aside from my feet, but my feet HURT. So bad. Compression socks. I need compression socks.
Kevin: You need to do a run in them before race morning so you know what you’re getting into. I got terrible cramps the first time I ran with them.
Me: Fine. Tonight – we are buying compression socks and I will run with them.
So, tonight we buy compression socks.
I’m trying to figure out my deep seeded fear so that I can conquer it.
Some thoughts that I have running through my head:
Will there be any other fat runners? Doesn’t matter. Brush any and all haters off.
Will I finish last? It doesn’t matter, but if it did, the time to beat from last year is 24:38/min mile.
What if I can’t walk to the car after because I’m so exhausted/sore? Take an Uber.
I have answers to my questions.
I’m scared because I’m turning back into the woman I used to be. The athlete I used to be.
I’m on “eight” with a little nagging voice telling me I can’t do it again.
My challenge isn’t the other people running along side me. It’s myself. It’s the pain in the bottom of my feet and the little voice telling me I can’t do it. It’s learning to push harder, dig deeper, fight dirty with myself. It’s changing the “no” into “now” and taking off.
It’s about taking a chance on myself and remembering that the last 18 months do not define me as a person. It’s about remembering why I started. Remembering that it hasn’t gotten easier, I’ve just gotten better.