***if you are new here, and have no idea what this is going to be about you have two intelligent choices:
a) Leave Now.
b) Start here, then work your way back, m'kay?
As a professional worry wart, there are few things in life that I excel at more than stressing about things over which I have no control. And all of this artisan level stressing tends to manifest itself in fun and original ways. Such as waking up the morning before we were to board a plane for Minnesota unable to turn my head to either side. Wheeeee!
My neck was so sore in fact, that I opted out of my run and instead decided to commit myself to fretting over it.
The day morning saw very little improvement, but with an exam in the morning, work in the midday and a flight in the afternoon, I hardly had time to indulge in a full blown case of the "what-if's?".
Our flight went off without a hitch - which in and of itself is nothing shy of a minor miracle. I am blessed you see, with the "bad travel karma"...a fact which I will someday tackle in a separate post...once I have determined that I never want anyone to travel with me ever again. Because after reading the litany of travel woes I have amassed over the years, I can all but guarantee that none of you will be accompanying me anywhere. Ever.
My partner in crime met us at the airport, and exhilarated but exhausted, we made our way back to his home. We had a full schedule of activities lined up, to keep us (both expert worriers) from fixating on what was about to happen, and shutting down completely. (Ok, maybe that part was just me.)
On Friday we woke up bright and early, donned some cold weather running gear, and went for a 20 minute trot through the neighborhood. Almost instantly my neck felt better, and my spirits were buoyed.
Once we got back and got cleaned up, we went to the Mall of America. Which was completely overwhelming. It was like going to the Cheesecake Factory when you are starving, and trying to navigate their epic novel sized menu. You just don't know where to start.
We decided to track down the Lululemon store, so that I could meet the object of my affection, and see if she was as awesome in person as she appeared to be online. (You know how online dating is...online shopping isn't all that different...) I was already most of the way to head over heels in love with the Pacesetter, before I ever set eyes on it. After trying her on, I had to resist the urge to look at her and tell her that she completed me.
Even still, I was able to rationalize myself out of purchasing it, as we had already come to the conclusion that it would be way too cold to wear it for the marathon. So Santa? If you're listening....
Later on that day we went to the St. Paul River Center, to check in for the race...as we were handed our bags, with our bibs and chips and such, a sudden wave of euphoria passed over me. I looked around at the crowds milling about and wondered how many of them I would see along the road just two days later.
We took some time, on our way home, to drive a good portion of the route that the race was to take. As a planner, I needed this, to soothe my jangly nerves...I have come to learn one simple fact about myself: if I have a sense of the route ahead of time? I do much better running it. I am less hesitant, less timid, less cautious and more likely to just run it.
We woke up Saturday to colder weather than the day before and the dawning realization that, for all my obsessive planning, there was no way that I was going to be warm enough in the clothing that I brought for the race. After agonizing over the decision for the better part of the day, I finally decided to bite the bullet, throw caution to the wind and buy a new top to wear the day of the race. The risk of having something rub or chafe was outweighed by the allure of not freezing my tits off. (Yes, I said that. Deal.)
I also made the decision to ditch the compression capris in favor of the warmer Nike running tights. The same one's I had worn the morning before for our run. Thankfully, since we were staying at my partner in crime's home, we had access to laundry facilities.
My husband put all of the gear in and washed it.
Later that night, after a hearty, carb heavy pasta meal I tried on my race day outfit. And all hell broke loose.
The top? The brand new top that we had just purchased, earlier that day? Didn't fit.
The sleeves were too short. (Fun fact...I have monkey arms. Seriously. That my knuckles don't scrape the ground is a minor miracle. They match my legs. If my limbs were in proportion to my torso? I'd be about 5'2". If my torso was in proportion to my limbs? I'd be about 5'10". As it stands, I am 5'6"...or as my husband likes to say "5'5" and a hair clip".)
Because my husband is chock full of the awesome, he ran out, at 9PM, in Minnesota, and got me a new shirt, one size larger. He brought it back to me, I tried it on, and heaved a sigh of relief.
Having caught and dealt with that last monkey wrench, I attempted to settle in for some sleep...and so fitfully tossed and turned until about 4AM, just in time to get up, and become a marathoner.