I’m not sure what to write about today, but I’m sure my train of thought will take over soon. I’m five weeks into my half marathon training, and honestly, I don’t know who I thought I was when I signed up for this race. This shit is hard…harder than I expected.
I’ve run one before, but this time I’ve got an ankle that refuses to rotate and a knee that feels like it’s in the wrong place. At this point, no part of running feels good. I ran six miles the other day and felt like absolute death. I can’t even imagine doubling that. I might actually die—just kidding, I’m being dramatic. Still, I can’t fathom this race going well. All I can really do is try my best, but right now my best doesn’t seem good.
On another note, I’m planning to go camping this weekend, and my soul could not be happier. God…my body needs to sleep on the cold, hard ground and wake up in a dew-covered tent in the middle of nowhere. Then complain about how sore I am before hiking six miles anyway. Just the thought of it brings me pure joy.
It feels like running away. And I love to run away. Except I’m not really good at the running part—physically.