- You carry around a sample package of a sports drink powder in your bag or purse
- You have a crumpled race T-shirt riding shotgun in your car
- You dream about running, to wit:
Indeed, what about Boston. What about everything. I have a sick creeping feeling that the flaring pain in my fibula is not going to go away and I will be running on it as it is come Sunday. I am on the verge of downgrading my expectations to "just finish." It hurt like hell for the duration of my 12-miler yesterday, though it hurt less when I ran faster. I decided to pretend that the last 2 miles of the run were the last 2 miles of the marathon. How much did I have left; how badly did I want it? I ran miles 11 and 12 in 8:04 and 7:57 respectively. Of course once I finished, I was in agony and limping very badly as I walked home. Icing the traitorous area seemed to help but I am really anxious. Very anxious, very nervous, very upset. There is only one week left before the race. Why did this-- whatever it is, and I don't even want to think about "the S.F. word"-- have to happen NOW?
I shall see how it feels when I do my easy 4-miler tomorrow morning. Please please please please PLEASE let it be nothing skeletal.
I hope to soon read some race reports, from my fellow run-bloggers who participated in marathons this weekend.