Tomorrow it finally happens.
I feel like a soldier, slowly drifting toward Omaha Beach watching Nazi artillery inch its way closer. I just want to get off the boat and find out if I sink or float.
Tomorrow is the culmination of 8 weeks of training.
Sallie will run 13.1 miles and I will have cardiac arrest after running about 7.5 miles.
In all seriousness, assuming I don't get injured, I think I can finish this in under 2 hours and 45 minutes. The thing that is going to hold me back is the 4:45 wakeup call.
But with Caffeine and a desire to be back home running through my veins, I should be able to knock this thing out at a decent clip.
First thing I plan on doing when I get home is soaking in a lot of Epsom salts and doing a lot of ice baths. Then, once the initial shock wears off, I'm going to have everything the rest of the day delivered to me. Pizza, hell yes. Chinese, you bet. I'm thinking about leaving the door wide open and letting these people come into my house and literally deliver the food to the plate... also known as my chest. Because you can bet that I'm going to be too tired to do anything other than place the call and change the movie.
Just keep me in your thoughts. Please for the love of all that is holy, don't show up to the race to cheer me on. Sallie may like that encouragement, but I tend to love a me against the world scenario a bit more.
I'm a loner... a rebel... a run, walk, run sort of guy.
So I'll see you long after the finish line, when my knees start working and my body forgives me. Then, and only then, can we discuss this hellish test of body.
Good night everyone
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