Sunday is the culmination of months and miles of wogging and fledgling running training. Sunday is the end result of a random post partum desire to be able to run a 5K.
My first half marathon.
Saturday, I board the plane for hopefully smooth travel to New Orleans. Carmen booked a hotel in the perfect location. We’ll have time to settle in and to play gently around the French Quarter. Then the race is early Sunday morning. When we’re limping around afterwards, we’ll watch the Broncos in the Super Bowl. Then we get most of Monday to explore again before hopping on different planes and heading home.
I’m nervous and excited, equal measures. Carmen hatched this plan maybe a year ago. It has been a long time coming. We have both been striving hard towards it. I’m almost ready to do it just to get it over with, just to see if I can.
But there are those seeds of doubt. All the foot issues, all the sickness, and the fact that it’s 13 fucking miles.
It just needs to happen. No more waiting. No more training. No more preparing. No more worrying.
Let’s do this.