So This is "Low"

I expected a low point somewhere along the way. Nobody can maintain enthusiasm forever. But, officially, I'm going to state right now that I think marathon training is ridiculous. I told someone today that I feel like I'm the most boring human on earth. I think it's worse than that. I feel like the antithesis of fun. I am a fun vacuum.

I run. I get hungry. I eat. I run. I sleep. I worry about my knees. I worry about my toes. I run. I get hungry. I eat. I weigh myself. I worry that I'm too slow. I run. I sleep. I can't sleep. I take Tylenol PM. I sleep. I run. I get hungry. I get hungry again. I run. I eat. I weigh myself. I get hungry. I sleep. I worry about my toes.

I don't know why ANYONE is hanging out with me right now. I'd like to give a high five to the following people: Dad, Mom, Caroline, Jason, Sharon, Julie, Chris. What exactly are you getting out of this relationship right now other than constant reminders that I am 1) tired 2) hungry 3) and/or unable to hang out with you because I have to go run?

My long run on Saturday went (objectively) fine. 17 miles, two of which were walked. I'm not chastising myself too sharply for those two walked miles because Saturday's weather was awful. Hot, humid. Awful. My pace was dismal but, again, I'm faulting the weather. This was really the first long run I had to force myself to finish. I've had very tough runs before (one resulting in a good cry under a bridge) but this one was the first one that actually made me somewhat angry. It was the first time I questioned the logic of my decision to sign up for a marathon. And it was the first time I had to call upon that old devil, Pride, to carry me through to the end. You see, too many people know about this race now. Too many people would have to be told about my failure, and the thought of that gives me hives. Too many people have said they'll be there, cheering me on. And if they're going to wait for my butt to cross the finish line at 5 hours and 30 minutes (fingers crossed), I better cross it alive, intact, at a stride that resembles "running".

Saturday was the first day I hated this. And I just need to say that outloud so I can walk away from it. The weather is supposed to perk up this weekend. Not quite so hot, not quite so humid. Pretty days. Gentle days to remind me, maybe, that my toes will probably not fall off (going to the doctor Friday to confirm that), that I will probably cross the line with time to spare, and that after all this is over, I will be grateful I stood at the bottom and looked up.