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Eyes on the Prize

Eyes on the Prize

The TARC 100 is four, FOUR, days away.

I am worried and scared.

I worried because I’m not really worried about the race.

I’m scared because I’m not really scared about the distance.

I’m getting a bit wound up because I’m not getting wound up about the lack of sleep that is coming.

It’s a bit odd. As this race approaches, I’m pretty mellow about the whole thing. I’m convinced that JB and I are not only going to finish, but we’re going to finish with some time to spare. I suppose part of that is inexperience, a lack of knowledge of what truly lies ahead; not knowing what it is the legs and lungs and mind feel like after 75 miles, realizing that one still has to run what is essentially a full marathon.

Training hasn’t been ideal. I’ve missed a few long runs – a scheduled 50-miler and 24-miler stand out in particular.

I should be nervous…

…but I’m not…

…and that’s making me kind of, well, nervous.

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[tweetmeme source=”luau” only_single=false http://www.URL.com%5D

So we’re in the final stretch.

I hate this part.

It’s not because of the taper.  It’s not the anticipation.  It’s not even the knowledge that at some point during the Boston Marathon I will doubt myself.

No.

The part I hate most about the home stretch to Hopkinton is that for the next week and a half, I am going to be walking around scared, frightened and jumpy.

Luau!  You have nothing to be scared of!  You’ve got 5 marathons (and 1 Boston) under your belt.  You know what to expect! What’s there to be scared of?

It’s not the race that I’m scared of people.  Marathons are hard; marathons hurt, but man do I love them.

It’s everything else…and I mean EVERYTHING!

Everywhere I look is a potential hazard.

A toy on the floor, picking up the kids, going to the bathroom in the middle of the night – each and every one of these things, along with everything else in the world, is an injury waiting to happen – a slip, a pull, a stub.

That coughing classmate of Katie’s, the sniffling parking attendant at Jess’ work, that feverish looking checkout clerk at the grocery store – they are all out to get me sick right before the start.

Even food, glorious food, is fraught with danger – does it smell a little funny?  is it gonna give me an upset stomach? could there be e.coli in it?

I am a scared little boy right now.

Don’t ask me to get anything off the high shelf.  Don’t ask me to pick up anything heavy.  Don’t breath near me if you even have a hint of a sniffle (I don’t care if you say it’s allergies!). Don’t walk anywhere near my feet.  If you need to talk to me, call me…no, better yet, don’t – I don’t want to stumble as I walk to get the phone.

I would say that I just want to curl up in bed and sleep until the 18th, but I’m afraid of sleeping funny and waking up with a crick in my neck!

Yes, I hate this part.

Be careful fellow Boston Marathoners, you never know where the next injury is coming from.

Excuse me while I go wrap myself in Charmin and bubble wrap.

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