My enthusiasm is not where it should be for this race.
When I got my Official Race Program, I shoved it into the bathroom with the other magazines and barely looked at it. (Oh, like you don't have magazines in your bathroom, riiiiiiight.) I still haven't decided what to wear race day, and part of the reason I haven't decided is due to the fact that I haven't consulted the weather.
If you're hoping to see me on the course? I also can't give you a reasonable approximation of when I expect to be where. Because I haven't done any of the calculations. Let me know, though, and I'll totally get on that. Yep. Totally. One of these days.
My brother's coming in town tonight to watch me run. I haven't even given any thought to where he should wait to see me. I told him to not bother with the finish; I'd meet him back at my apartment. I'm more excited about ASSSSCAT 3000 and Ricardo Steak House than I am about seeing the finish line in Central Park.
The expo? Yeah, I'll go this afternoon. I'll probably spend too much money. And if that doesn't help, I don't know what will.
What is wrong with me?
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"