We Don’t Care Anymore

So it’s really happening.

On Friday Steph emailed me confirmation for our hotel.

On Monday we both booked our flights.

Yesterday I reserved the rental car.

Welp. I guess I’m going to run a marathon.

I mean, yeah, I’ve known I was going to run a marathon for months now (eight of them, actually). I’ve been signed up since EARLY APRIL. I’ve been running and running all year.

All except the last little while. Why?

Honestly, because I can’t bring myself to care anymore. The burnout that hit me hard right before Ragnar never really left. I made it through Ragnar. I struggled my way through another half, then giggled my way through yet another since then.

And I don’t care.

Close to two weeks ago I went out on a sixteen mile run. I made it 12 (two fucking hours of running) before my hip stopped me. And I cried and walked limped the last four miles home. The very next day I went out and got brand new HOT FUCKING PINK running shoes.

They’re still sitting in the box.

Because I don’t care.

I want to care, but I don’t. I want to go out and give my new shoes a spin, but I’d rather go get drinks with my friends. I want to spend the next few Sundays building my mileage to a previously unheard of (to me) level, but at least this week I’d rather go to the Chicago Bears game with GCB.

I want to get to a point where I am READY, mentally and physically, to run 26.2 damn miles all at once, but I feel like with six weeks left, the physical part is going to be perhaps decent since I’m not starting at nothing and the mental part? Well, I’m going to finish the thing, but it will be slow.

And I don’t care.

Guys? Marathon training is HARD. I would totally recommend NOT signing up for one when you’re on a combined high of friend-in-town plus just-met-amazing-new-boy plus feeling-in-great-shape-four-days-prior-to-a-half-marathon.

Half marathons? Fun. Glorious. A great fucking time. I love half marathons. Seriously. No sarcasm font. This? Mileage this high? Not fun.


I’ll run when I can. I’ll lift when I can. I’ll go out on my long runs and pray that both my hip and the water I bring with me both hold out. I’ll try to maintain my current physical fitness level and hope that maybe the next six weeks will actually help me out.

And I’ll run it.

Then I’ll never consider running another full marathon ever again.

Marathons? We are never getting back together.

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