taper madness

I would totally feel better if I went out and ran around the block. I know this with absolute certainty. Nevermind that it's after eleven p.m., pitch black and cold, and that my street doesn't have streetlights not to mention blocks. Not to mention the fact that the ten godawful slow miles today already aggravated my knee, and I'd get barely anywhere before limping home feeling worse than when I started. That is entirely irrelevant. I need endorphins, stat. Or whatever biological compound that would quell these quite literal jitters. Perhaps I'll start smoking just so I can quit; that jones might outweigh this one. Maybe. Or at least distract me from the loop of based-oh-so-slightly-on-reality thoughts that are racing through what's left of my mind. Five months of training will pay off-or not--two weeks from today if the meantime doesn't kill me.

If I don't get sick. I think my throat hurts. What if everyone in school gets the flu? If I'm not more injured than I already know. If the physical therapy doesn't make it worse. Maybe the x-ray didn't show the real problem. If it's not too humid or not too hot or not too cold or if whatever fitness I've built doesn't drain completely away as I sit here and rest. I know it won't. How could it not?! They say it won't; I think they're lying. Not getting 20 in must invalidate everything; I bet you think so, too. If I don't gain weight or if my shoes aren't wrong or if halfway through I don't lose a contact lens. What if I get a migraine? If I don't eat the wrong thing. If there aren't lines for the johns. If I'm not too slow. What if I have to walk and they turn me around? What if those walkers get in my way? What if I just can't do it? With everyone watching!

I know that I can. I have come this far, and getting it done is the only option. I'll be fine. My knee will be better, and if it's not, I'll still do it. I know. I do. I believe. Or at least I would if I could go run 'round the block.