Though I intended to write last week, the mixed emotions and nuttiness of work precluded that. A quick recap of the week. Monday I went to the doctors who did some moving, poking and prodding of my knees. Long story short, he told me to ice and take ibuprofen, and then reffered me for some PT for my knees. He asked how long my longest run had been, and I told him 12 miles. He said "you can do this". And so I changed from "I can't" to wrapping my brain around doing the race.
Had I to do it over again, I probably would have picked a less formidable half marathon to start. BAA was great (people were great, etc), but they are pretty clear about the course closing after 2.5 hours, and 1/5 of the people who signed up don't go. I wonder if some of them panic. I know I did.
Saturday was between Zen and panic. But I was in. Picked up my bib number. Put the D-ring on my shoe. Laid out my outfit. Reread the "It's all about the Medal" chapter in MARATHONING FOR MORTALS. And got to the place where I realized that, duh, I needed to enjoy this as much I as could. Why was I doing it otherwise?
I am still processing the race, but two thoughts. First, it was harder than I thought it would be. And I thought It would be pretty hard.
Second, I did it. I freaking ran a half marathon. It took me a little over 3 hours, but I started and finished.
As a friend said last night, I can never again say that I can't do something unless I try. And I will keep trying. The tangible goal of a half marathon helped so much. I am going to keep doing shorter runs this winter, and then set another goal for next season. Maybe a sprint tri?
Now to apply all of these lessons to my manuscript and desired writing life. Thing is, after yesterday I think I can do it.