It feels like it's been a long time since I really had a goal going into a race. I have had secret goals, sure, but secret goals aren’t ones you slave over and train for -- they are just what you hope you are capable of after an unpredictable training cycle.
Goals leave the door open for massive disappointment. As opposed to the mild disappointment or unexpected excitement of secret goals.
During this training cycle I've been injured. I spent a good portion of it moping on the elliptical waiting for my leg to feel better and assuming I'd have to bypass this race.
Once I started running again I was lucky enough to be faster than I anticipated and in a prime spot to reach the long suffering goal I've been reaching for: to qualify for Boston.
I want it. I really really want it.
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I was feeling pretty confidant up until a week ago when I got a cold-sinus-cough hybrid disease. It really took a lot out of me. I had to take time off of work and couldn't do my last double digit run before the marathon on Saturday, because I still felt so sick.
I have spent the last few days trying to get better while simultaneously attempting to lessen my aspirations for Saturday. Maybe I won't BQ? Maybe I could have a backup plan? Maybe I should prepare myself so I don't spend Saturday crying if I don't qualify?
But I can't help it. Every time I think about the race I see myself doing well and meeting my goal. I am still excited and hopeful that this will be it for me.
So I'm laying it out on the line. I have a goal for Saturday. It is to finish under 3 hours and 35 minutes (but closer to 3:30). If I don't reach it I give myself permission to be sad and disappointed. If I DO reach it I give myself permission to be proud, celebrate and jump up and down (to the best of my post-marathon legs ability).
And just for fun, and to acknowledge I talk about running too much, a clip from The League that Ben has been using to mess with me every time I mention "the marathon."
