I admit it; I can be impatient. I tend to be over-eager. I don’t like to wait around. And when there’s too much build up to something, it’s often a disappointment. So I’d rather just get it over with.
I say this to explain my rationale for deciding that the best way to practice for a half marathon would be to run a half marathon. Which is what I did. Today. Earlier this morning. In 2 hours and 14 seconds (damn those 14 seconds!). It was pretty cool though. The whole experience was completely surreal. Thousands of people moving in waves through the streets of
I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. I mean, this isn’t the big event I’ve been working toward. This was just a trial run…literally. So when Roger asked if I wanted him there cheering on the sidelines or waiting for me at the finish line I said no – and I meant it. Why should my obsession interfere with his Sunday? I would however, need a lift downtown and he’d need to pick me up somewhere near the finish line, though far enough away that he wouldn’t have to deal with traffic and road closures.
In retrospect, I can see that this was not a good plan. I won’t bore you with the details, but I got completely turned around after the race and basically wandered in circles for an hour before finally flagging down a taxi to take me to the spot where Roger would pick me up. When I got in the car, still shivering in my sweaty clothes, medal around my neck, I immediately burst into tears – much to my husband’s horror and confusion. It was mostly exhaustion, I guess, and partly pitifulness. I so wanted to be mad at Roger for not being there at the finish line, waiting with a fleece and a bagel, ready to whisk me to the nearby car. But it was my fault he wasn’t there. I’m the one who told him – more than once I might add – that his presence was completely unnecessary. So when I couldn’t yell at Roger... I burst into tears instead. Apparently, when you can’t scream, sob. And I did. But only for a few minutes. Soon enough, I was happily ordering coffee and a bagel at Einstein’s.
Needless to say, Roger’s not in trouble. And I’m fine. But you can bet my husband will be waiting at the finish line in