Uneasy Feeling

Somebody quickly contact the zoo because their entire butterfly exhibit has escaped and taken up residency in my stomach. I kid you not! The somerasaults my stomach are turning rival any gymnastics meet, and my nerves have apparently rendered my writing helplessly cheesy.

The marathon is four days away, four! Count em: one, two, three, four. All those numbers fit on one hand. That is how close it is now. Eighteen long, grueling weeks of training, and it all comes to fruition in FOUR days. I sound a little like Grover in The Monster at the End of this Book, and frankly, I feel just as frantic. Don't turn the page!!! (Those of you who are parents of toddlers and those closet Sesame Street fans might know the book.) I can't think of a time I've been more anxious, and maybe it is because after four attempts, this could really be it. Or maybe I'm overwhelmed with anxiety because after four attempts, I'm realizing that anything could happen in four days: the flu, a cold, a broken ankle. I'm still not ready to trust that I could really do it this time and that if I somehow don't line up with all those other crazed, manic runners, I'll simply be devastated.

How cooky have I become in my quest for 26.2. I'm taking Zicam like its candy, and yesterday, I sat on the table at my orthopedic doctor's office and at my own request watched him fill two needles the length of my hand with cortisone and then almost cried out in agony when he then jabbed them into my knee joint to assure that my IT band will not cause me trouble on race day. My dear, it has reached obssession. Calm down my pounding heart; I feel like Poe, except my heart beats, race day, race day, race day. My tell-tale heart is telling on my own lack of faith.

This morning, at five a.m. when I simply couldn't think of race day any longer and began obsessing over whether or not my two year old's coat was at home or abandoned in the library, I just threw up my hands, (figuratively, of course; in my frenzy, I did have the wherewithal not to knock out my sleeping husband) and just said, "God, I'm giving it to you; I'm giving it to you." And today, I've really been trying. I'm not washing my hands non-stop to get rid of cold germs. I've only had two Zicam. And, I'm feeling calmer, more centered. I think I'll be there on race day, not because of anything I've done, but because it's God's will. And if for some reason, it isn't, and I break my ankle before the big day (there are only four, so the chances are slimming), it won't be that bad. Last time I broke my ankle, I got a beautiful little girl, and she is much more of an accomplishment than 26.2 will ever be. Hopefully, the next time I post, it will be with a finisher's medal around my neck!! Keep me in your prayers.