I hope my race goes well tomorrow. I'm actually quite nervous about it.
I've had a little bit of inconsistent training the past few weeks, although I feel that (in spite of that) I'm in a fairly good place to finish this race and not be too embarrassed by my performance. It doesn't hurt that the predicted weather is absolutely gorgeous: high 40s at the start, getting up into the low 60s (although likely I'll be done before the day's highs are reached).
Although I've run a whole bunch of races over the past few months, I realized that I haven't actually run a large one that I cared about in ages. It's been literally years since I've felt any substantial prerace anxiety. Little things make a difference - I haven't done the ritual laying out of the clothes the night before, the planning of my prerace meal, or the pinning my bib on in advance. I realized this morning that I know that one of my pairs of Asics gives me blisters, but I can't even remember which pair. I best figure that out before mile 7 or 8 tomorrow.
I guess my chill attitude is a good thing, but I kind of miss the butterflies. I don't think it's so much that I've just relaxed about racing as it is that I haven't done a race in years in which I'd set strong goals and trained hard. That's my next step over the next few months.
This morning was a short jaunt to the track to help my partner train for a work-related fitness test (more on that later). He did a strenuous track workout but I only did a couple of miles and some stretching, with the exception of one lap during which I paced him. My only goal tomorrow is to finish. Okay, and to finish in less than 2:30 if conditions permit. If they don't permit, I can blame it on the 400m I sprinted today, right?
On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"