So...I've always been part of the "don't run unless being chased" group. Actually, let me restate that. I've always been part of the don't MOVE unless being chased group. I mean, ask anyone who knows me...I would send my cat to go get my drinks if the lazy things would oblige.
As I mentioned in my earlier blog post, on July 17th I will be doing 13.1 miles for Crohn's.
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For the most part, I joined up with this and committed to this without thinking. I kind of was like, pshaw. 13.1 miles? What's the big deal? I'm sure it will be fine. And now, as I've gotten up to 6 miles, I'm sitting here going 13.1 miles? WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY WERE YOU THINKING???!!!
Actually, I would have more exclamation points at the end of that sentence but I'm far too exhausted from the 6 miles.
As the day gets closer, I'm realizing that I'm scared. I will do this. I know I will. And when I cross the finish line, I will cry with accomplishment before falling on my face and having to be dragged off the course by the paramedics.
But, for right now, I have all these thoughts in my head. In clinical crazy town terms, we call this Holy Shit What The F*** A Half Marathon? (Otherwise known as HSWTFAHF, you may be more familiar with it that way).
My fears are:
What if I don't finish?
What if both my kneecaps fall off?
What if I'm the last person to finish?
What if I fall down and pass out? (This will be remedied by pinning a note to my shirt that says take me to the nearest margarita and I will be fine).
What if I don't finish?
Did I mention what if I don't finish?
I can't decide what is worse for me...not finishing or being the last person to finish. It might be a tie.
Well, while I face my fears, while trying to have a heart to heart with my spazing leg muscles, I'll just ask for you to say a short prayer for my kneecaps. And maybe the rest of me.
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