Next Saturday at 3:45 am, I will be on a bus to the starting line up Provo Canyon. Let the stomach jitters begin. I'm downing antacids by the case load. And over analyzing every little knee twitch and ankle roll. I don't even want to jog to the mailbox anymore, for fear of screwing up my legs.
The odd thing? I'm pretty sure that the morning of, I will be as cool as a kumquat. There's this peace that settles over me, because I know come hell or high water, I will cross the finish line. I might be on my knees, and it might be 3 hours after race closes, but I will still drag my butt across.
After all, I've already had the worst happen in a marathon. Last August, in my first one, my hamstring injury resurfaced at mile 8 and was debilitating by mile 13. I was forced to speed walk the rest of it. But I still made it. I required a bottle of advil afterwards, but I survived.
Forgetting about the time and putting one foot in front of the other until it's over. Also, the fierce determination that the 4 months of running training hell were not pointless. I will walk away with my medal dammit. :)
Now if only I can survive the next week without injuring myself or giving myself ulcers.