I’ve hardly been running at all lately. At least that is what it feels like. My easy runs are half of what they were at peak training. My last long run was no longer than those peak easy runs. I’ve been able to leave after 7:00 am and still get back before Micah leaves for work at 8:00. It’s been nice.
But less running means more time for thinking. Thinking about running. Wondering if that twinge is something serious. Calculating the pace. Again and again and again. Hoping the difference in elevation between Brooklyn and Utah isn’t going to cause us any trouble.
And every time I see someone out running, I wonder if they’re training for the marathon, too. Every time the boys start climbing on me I worry that they’re going to do some damage and I won’t be able to run. Every time I think about having to get up at 2:00 in the morning so I can catch the bus to the start line, I feel a little ball drop into the pit of my stomach. And then I try to laugh at myself for taking this thing so seriously.
It’s a race. It’s running. It should be fun. It will be fun. It’s not the end of the world if I don’t reach my goal. It’s just the end of training and it’s going to my head.