I ran one mile today. Okay? Yes, I was supposed to run 12, but I ran 1. Whatever. It’s taper time, I’m tired, worn out, had a crazy-ass week at work, worked late the last three days of the week, worked through lunch all but one day, saw personal training clients. I hit my breaking point. Riley and I geared up, headed out, and did one stinking mile. Even she wasn’t into it. I thought maybe I felt some tweaking in my knee, but then wasn’t sure if it maybe was just in my head. I decided I didn’t care where it was, that I wasn’t going to run another eleven miles.
We leave tomorrow morning for our trip to Raleigh. My running shoes are packed and I plan on getting two runs in while I’m down there. “Yeah, right,” I’m sure some of you say. So doubt me, I don’t care. I’m going to do it and prove you wrong. Then you owe me a beer after my marathon is over. I’m not taking the free beers before the marathon because once our trip is over, alcohol is out until after the big day. I don’t need to go on a bender a week before the marathon and totally screw up my hydration and what-not.
Tweleve hours from now we’ll be packing up the car and heading to the airport.
I CAN’T WAIT.