I have the perfect melancholy disposition to be a great author. If I did not have a husband, children, or God, I could perfectly imagine myself drinking too much coffee by day, drinking too much wine by night, and spewing forth a constant stream of cigarette smoke as I created dreary literary masterpieces.
The most I can muster is pummeling myself with introspection.
When my world is sunny, I am the best athlete the world has ever seen. When there are clouds, I am an average nobody, pretending to do something great.
I have been marathon training since March, and now my knee is giving me trouble. With only 4 weeks left before race day, there might be time to heal and still complete the marathon. I can either give in to the overwhelming sense that everything I try will fail, or I can fight my way out and hope for the best.
Fighting, in this case, includes cutting back mileage. I have to add strength training and more stretching. It will be difficult, and time-consuming, but it has to be done if I want to run the marathon.
Normally when I’m in the doldrums, I don’t blog. I don’t like throwing pebbles into the glassy surface people think is my life. I also like to keep the blog solely about running, and leave my moods out of it. But running cannot be compartmentalized. When I am feeling down, my running is affected; and when I fail to meet my running goals, my life is somehow tainted.
No matter how pleasant it may seem at times, life is unrelenting. It is a kitchen, constantly in need of cleaning, lest the mold build up in the dark places. I struggle to keep up with it.
I should be running 18 miles now on my long runs. I’ve barely completed 15, which makes me seriously wonder why I’m doing all this. It would be so very easy to give up.
I’m sure I could psychoanalyze the reasons why I want to train for and complete the marathon, but it is enough to say, this crazy race is a challenge I face, and I desperately want to make the cut.
I am not strong, brave, or faithful. I cannot create these qualities through running, no matter how many miles I log. My wretched shell can only be filled with strength, courage, and faithfulness if God wills it. My prayer is He gives me enough to complete the 26.2 miles in July.
Miles: Thursday 0, Friday went to the zoo & stayed up late, Saturday 12, Sunday slept most of the day, Monday…TBA
Miles Projected: I have no idea. I’m balancing on the narrow ridgeline of panic.
Failures: My 12 miles on Saturday was supposed to be 18. But my knee was hurting badly, and it was extremely hot outside (both great excuses to quit). It was a bad idea to run and was probably more mentally damaging than anything.
Successes: I am determined to do an 18-miler this week.