So here I sit, once again in the basement; I'll explain that one day and I'm scared and nervous and I feel like I might vomit. Tomorrow is the marathon and a huge part of me just wishes that it were over so I could be sitting down, crying, drinking with my friends and a huge part of me wishes that I could prolong this feeling of absolute excitement at the prospect of embarking on a journey that I might never again do in my lifetime. Who knows when they will ever get a second chance at something, especially something like this. Sure I'm running for charity, but I run for myself too and right now, my self is scared shitless.
When I signed up to do this 7 months ago, I knew that I would be going it alone for the most part. Rosh has been a saving grace these past months, running with me, encouraging me, helping me to plan, but on the mornings or in the evenings when I get up to run alone and it's just me and my thoughts, those are the times when doubt starts to creep in and that monkey on my back that often motivates me, fear. See, I don't like to be afraid of anything and usually I'm not, but I am afraid to fail. Fear doesn't keep me from trying things or attempting things, but I do not handle failure well, at all.
So, here it is. In 6 hours (and I can't sleep right now, no way), I will get up, get dressed, get on a shuttle to Staten Island in the 40 degree weather and then I will wait... until 10:40 EST and THEN I will run. Then I will run 26.2 miles because this is what I signed up for and along the way, I will remind myself that I am doing it for a greater reason than because I can; I am doing it to help others, children in particular. One foot in front of the other... one more mile.
I close my eyes and tell myself to relish every second, to enjoy every painstaking minute, to savor the sights and sounds of the people and of the city and to love what I can do, for others and for myself. I am excited. I am nervous. I am terrified.
Here I go...
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