I’m Just Not That Into You

The day after my one mile race, I had an 18 mile race. It was another quiz. The idea was to put all of my training so far together. Work on speed and distance all at once.

Well, it seemed like a good idea when I signed up. The reality? I wasn’t into it.

I arrived at the start, cold and sleepy. 2 miles into the race, I was ready to give up. I debated taking a short cut back to the start and telling the organizers where they could shove their course. I’d had it. Why did I ever think that I could run a damn marathon? I’m sick of thinking and talking about the marathon. It’s like a disease. I can’t drink alcohol, I can’t stay out late or sleep in, because of the marathon. From now on, when I have to decline an invitation or drink water instead of a glass of wine, I’ll say “I can’t, I have the marathons” andI’ll say as if  I were saying “I have the runs” because at this point, it is just as unpleasant. I’m running around in circles for hours, I’m sore, not getting enough sleep and I’m sure every one is sick of me talking about running.

Yep, that’s the dialogue in my head that went on for the first four miles, of my 18 mile race. I came to my senses around mile 6 and convinced myself that telling off the organizers and ending my marathon journey in a blaze of glory, equivalent to the flight attendant who went down the emergency slide, was not the best way to go, even if me, the queen, had had it!

I carried on, walking and running, running and walking. Huffing and puffing, can’t blow anything down, because my lungs still hurt from the previous day. So there I went round and round. At one point, someone called out my bib number and offered some words of encouragement, but I didn’t want to hear it. No way, not today. This was going to be my last race. I decided to take next year off from running. See what I’ve been missing for the past 2 years. I’ll defer this year’s race,maybe. Or maybe I’ll run this one, but it will be my last. My last, I swear.

As my toes began to hurt and my attitude worsened, I was convinced that this was it for me. Put a period at the end of this race because I am D to the O to the N to the E. Done. But…

Then I saw the marker for mile 17. What? I have one more mile left! I took off. Ooh, I hear the music, that means I’m close to the finish, don’t stop, won’t stop, keep keep keeping on. Oh look, photographers, CHEESE! Ugh, my lungs hurt, but there are too many people watching for me to stop. Plus I hear the huff and puff of someone trying to pass me, not today sucker, yeah try to keep up with me. My 100m kick is not to be messed with buddy.

Ah, the finish line.

I’m done.Yeah!

That wasn’t so bad. Maybe I will run the marathon.

But I have to get over the marathon sads. Need to stay positive.


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