Here we are, just four days out from the first (and perhaps last) race I have ever run.
Why did I think this was a good idea again? What possessed me to think I could do this?
I’ve been praying my novena to St. Rita (patron of the impossible, because I have such great faith in myself)… I’m hoping for a respectable finish time. I’m actually hoping that I don’t a) trip and kill myself; b) trip and kill others; and c) royally embarrass my wife and kids and the friends who’ll be cheering me on.
This afternoon, not having had much of an opportunity to run seriously for almost two week, I’m going to hit the pavement for a two-miler. And then, as I have been advised, I won’t do anything until Saturday. A friend who’s flying in to witness this spectacle has informed me that on race day I’ll have a secret weapon that has heretofore been lacking.
God I hope he’s right.
Say a prayer for me.