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.

so far

Everything is relative, and ain't that the truth. The money you have or the time you don't, the degree of surprise or disappointment. Whether it's worth it or whether it's not. Everything just depends.

Reaching what must be the midpoint in my marathon training, I've hit double digits. Two weeks ago, ten, and this weekend twelve. Miles, that is. At once. An eight-miler is somehow now recategorized as, "short," an adjective that I can still recognize as ridiculous even as I know it's now true. In the same way, all these numbers are big enough to inspire in others that slow shake of the head that's a cross between, "you're crazy" and "I'm impressed." My own reaction is more tempered. Don't get me wrong, I'm pleased with myself, but at the same time, the goal is 26.2. Less than half is not all that relatively speaking, which, we are.

I'll be curious to see how my perspective changes, or if it does, when I get to the end and look back. A year ago I had no earthly concept of what I could do; today I take it as a given. I find it hard to say, "I can't" and lately substitute, "I haven't." Because when I choose to, I'm certain that I will. What I've done is huge compared to what came before, but, still, it's only a fraction.

all wet

Yesterday, as I finally stepped out to run, the sky began to clear and the steady rain that had fallen all day slowed to a sprinkle then quickly disappeared. I was disappointed. A week ago, I ran further and more easily than I ever had in my life, and by the end of those eight miles, I was soaked to the bone. I trust you see the connection. What the heat and humidity had been taking out of me, a cooling rain put right back in. Finally, I felt like a runner, one who had a reason more concrete than just sheer power of will to believe she'd get to the end of 26.2. I may have even made a wish for every remaining summer Saturday to be equally wet. I should have thought that one through.

Or at least been more specific with my precipitation requests. Because I would never have asked for a summer storm to mark the beginning of a 32-mile bike ride, but that's what we got today. One wouldn't think anything could be that cold in July, but perhaps that's why some of it came down as hail. And yet instead of running for cover, we got on and pedaled through, eyes half-closed against the wind-driven water. "It's better than being hot," was more convincing after the downpour slowed and then stopped, but in the end, despite squishy shoes and a damp car seat-- perhaps the third time, I'll remember dry clothes-- I'm pretty sure that's still true.

Nine States and Counting!

View Team in Training in a larger map

Add your state here!

an appeal

"You may not know," wrote my friend, as she shared something I'd never heard. "Jeff is a survivor of non-Hodgkins lymphoma. Eventually a bone marrow transplant saved his life." And there it was, crystalized. In two sentences: everything. A man who is a force for good in the world, a husband, a father, a Packer fan, a pastor, a brother, a friend, is here, perhaps not only but primarily, because of advances in medicine. A method that was once impossible became his cure: that is what this is about.

For the next five months I will be working toward two substantial goals: training to complete the Nike Women's Marathon and raising four times that expense ($3950, no decimal) for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. I joined Team in Training because the opportunity to do something significant for others was as compelling as the potential personal accomplishment: both were challenges I was seeking. I will keep going because I know the cause matters to friends and strangers alike: every life is worth the effort.

Please help make a difference by donating, either through this link or by clicking on the badge at the top of the page.