6 days ago, I made a playlist for my last long run of my marathon training. My idea was to choose one type of music per mile. Typically, I choose what I want to run to strategically anyhow, but for long distances I put it on shuffle so whatever comes, comes! I thought it fitting to name the playlist “Marathon Test.”
My test playlist was going fabulously well! 7 miles…no. 7.68 miles in. Bob Marley is playing. I was loving the run and the next thing I knew, boom. I was yelling on my way to the ground. My foot had caught a raised part in the sidewalk and I fell. HARD.
Naturally, my first concern was my musician’s hands. Aside from the nasty abrasion, they were fine. However, when I tried to get up, I realized I couldn’t put pressure on my right hand because my shoulder was killing me. “Faaaaantastic. My race is in a week and I just may have put it in jeopardy.”
I spent the week icing it and spending quality time with the chiropractor. Fast forward to today and I am in Jacksonville, where I can now put on a shirt without grimacing! God is good, indeed. He is also hilarious because my period came this week, just as it had for my 70.3 two years ago. Between imagining what it would be like to cross the finish line, normal hormonal swings, the end of the quarter at work, and my concern for my shoulder, I have been an emotional hot mess. It is really important to me that I finish, not just because I want to finish everything I start but because I want to get this out of the way before preparing my body for a Little Joanie! I don’t know if I can handle marathon training taking over my life again any time soon, regardless of how I finish.
I haven’t been feeling particularly confident, as my training was far from perfect. I wasn’t even in the mood to get my nails done and eyebrows waxed, a vital pre goal race tradition. While I am not a superstitious person, it felt like a bad idea to forego my prettification. My nail tech, Alexa, asked me what brought me to the shop. “I’m running my first marathon!” She paused and then replied, “Awesome. You’ve got strong legs,” as she massaged them for me. Another lady at the shop, several minutes later, said the same thing. “Your legs look strong.”
As I pondered their words, I continued work on my playlist. I was about to change the title from Marathon Test to something else, but it dawned on me that my race tomorrow is, in fact, the ultimate test. Did I put in sufficient time training? Will I have the will to continue as the race progresses? Is my body strong or are these women looking for a tip?
May I awaken tomorrow to discover the truth, knowing I will be accompanied by the perfect color for my sure to be tired feet.