I am officially freaked out at the prospect of running this 5k on Thanksgiving morning. Last week I was excited. I wasn’t sure if I could make it, but I was going to give it my all and I felt like there was a good chance that I could run the whole thing. And I was going to be proud of myself at any rate. What happened, you ask? Well, last Thursday I met the road for the first time, and the two of us didn’t exactly hit it off. I tried, I really did. I was friendly, optimistic, and just short of jovial. But that road? It was unwelcoming. It was indifferent to my efforts. It was unyielding and uncaring. And while I did the best I could, I felt discouraged.
Over the weekend, that discouragement has turned into fear. I am afraid of running on the road again. And I am worried about the 5k. I am apprehensive, frustrated, and embarrassed about something that hasn’t even happened yet. I have visions of me failing, of having to walk most of the race, of having to face my family at dinner afterwards and tell them that I couldn’t run it. I am completely psyching myself out over this.
What’s that you say? Knock it off? Ha, would that I could (and you sound like my husband.) I have been trying to shut my crazy brain off for 30 years. Ok, more like 23 – I don’t think I was really nuts until I was 7. But if you have any idea as to how to turn around this bad train of thought, feel free to let me know. But you know what? Trains are heavy, and they don’t have power steering.