I can’t believe I actually did it. Considering everything that has happened since signing up for the race in October, I’m still slightly unsure that was me crossing the finish line.
I’ve mentioned a few times that I, the non-athlete, have had a few spurts of dedicated exercise throughout the past year. Some were specifically dedicated to running, but life took some serious turns in December and I was never able to complete my training as planned. I found myself working two jobs and struggling to find time to eat breakfast and dinner, let alone run or write. Everything was going to calm down soon, but the time when everything would shift gears coincided with the weekend of a race for which I’d already registered.
I seriously considered bailing. When I told people why I was headed to Florida in a few short days, friends and family fell into two camps. Some said, “There’s no way you can do this. You haven’t trained, you’re going to hurt yourself. You just aren’t capable of completing 13+ miles.” Others said, “Eh, you’ll be fine. You’ll be surprised what you’re capable of if you don’t give up. Just do it, you’ll really be okay.” Most of the people who thought I’d be okay never saw me run. Trust me, it isn’t pretty.
Until I got to Florida, I didn’t have time to weigh my options. I accepted everyone’s opinions (usually with a smile), stored them in a little piece of my brain, and carried on. There were more immediate issues at hand that needed my attention than $150+ in non-refundable fees.
And then it was here: Race Weekend.