I’m pretty sure it’s all a mistake. I swear, it’s gotta be a dream. Because there is absolutely NO logical explanation for this. None! None, whatsoever. It all has to be a big misunderstanding because if it’s not… then I really am signed up to run a half marathon tomorrow. A. Half. MARATHON… TOMORROW!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That’s 13.1 miles. (MILES!)
That’s 69,168 feet. (Sixty-nine THOUSAND!)
That’s 830,016 inches. (That’s a lot of flipping inches!)
And I’m supposed to run them all (Ha. Yeah, right).
How did I get roped into this, you might ask? Well, it all started last May (2012). I just started in a new job, and the woman whom I replaced was still really close friends with my boss. He invited her over so I could meet her, and while she was there for lunch she asked me to run a 5k with her. I had never met her before in my life, only talked to her twice over the phone briefly, and she was inviting me to run 3.1 miles with her October. I thought it was a little odd, but I went with. I chalked it up to her being outgoing, and to be perfectly honest, I was really wanted to meet new people (I moved to the area only 6 months before and knew literally 0 people). So I signed up.
We talked here and there over the next few months on Facebook, not really A LOT, but enough that we got to know each other better. I started really training for in August, about 2 months before the run. Before y’all get on me about the proper training lengths, I know I should have started sooner. Procrastination is a bad habit of mine (you’ll see just how bad in a few minutes). The Boy helped me with training because I’ve never played a physical sport in my life (I was a bookworm throughout school), so I had no clue what I was doing. He helped me build up, and we were going out about 3 times a week. I was making steady improvements every time, working my way up to 3 miles ever so slowly.
By the time October rolled around though, plans changed. We never went to the 5k we signed up for. I wanted to go home for a NH tradition (you can read more about here on my old blog) that was going on the same day as the race, and she hurt her knee in a 10k she ran the day before. So that race didn’t happen. I wound up running my first 5k the following weekend with a different friend at a completely different race. It was hard and in the dark, which slowed me down, but I finished! My first real, sanctioned race. I told myself I could cross it off my bucket list.
To keep up the good habits, I decided to sign up for another 5k in December, on New Year’s Eve, with the hopes of running the whole thing without stopping. Training slowed down a lot leading up to that one due to decreasing daylight after work and freezing cold temperatures.
Just 2 weeks before my next 5k, the friend that asked me to run the first 5k invited me to run a half marathon with her in March. I told her she was crazy. I wasn’t ready. I knew I wouldn’t be ready in just 3 months. There was no way I could tackle 13.1 miles of running. No possible way. But we talked about it and what I’d have to do for training. She really encouraged me to give a shot. I tried pulling the “I’m a broke, just-out-of-college girl” thing on her. But she knew me too well by then (we started talking a lot more as the months have gone on) and she asked my boss give me an early Christmas present by him paying for my entry fee. She sensed my weakness for saying no, and lassoed me in before I knew what was happening. All in 3 hours had she told me about the race and got me signed up for it. She’s good.
I ran my second 5k by myself, not fairing too much better the second time than I did the first time. I chalked it up to the 24 degree weather, and was happy I even finished. But the gravity of what I signed up for didn’t hit til the New Year came and went. Slowly over the course of the three months my apprehension has grown. I trained off and on throughout January, and more consistently in February, but never really surpassing 5 miles. I knew I was procrastinating and I knew I shouldn’t be. I knew I needed to get my butt in gear, but even as March 1st rolled around, I couldn’t/didn’t really push it that much harder. I have no idea why fear didn’t spur me forward this time; it always has in the past. But this time it didn’t.
Maybe this time I just thought there was no preparing myself for this amount of running in that short of amount of time. Maybe I didn’t want to freak myself out by TRYING to run that many miles before hand. Maybe I really didn’t have the time to dedicate to it like I keep saying I didn’t, even though I feel like I could have found the time. Or maybe I just sold myself short, and was my own worst enemy. I don’t know. All I do know is the race is tomorrow, and the longest run I’ve ever completed is 6 miles. And that’s not even running the whole thing–I can only run about 3 without stopping.
I feel, as I sit here writing this, that I am so completely screwed, it’s not even remotely funny. Not even in the farthest reaches of the Sahara desert, is it funny. I am about to have my ass handed to me in the biggest, largest way possible. 13.1 miles of hills and never-ending streets, with 30,000 other runners from around the country, in the rain and freezing cold. It’s going to be the longest 3 or more hours of my life.
If I survive, which everyone I talk to keeps saying I will (I think there all insane–how could I possibly make it out alive after 13.1 miles with those conditions and my little preparation??), I’ll update you with how it went later in the weekend. After I recover from, oh ya know, the 13.1 MILES I’ll have run at once.
Here we go….