The Bad News

I always want the bad news first. So here it is: my first half marathon, for which I have been training for months, is next weekend. And I hurt my foot.

I had to go out of town for work last Wednesday, and I ended up walking all over downtown Huntington. In ballet flats. And somehow, I stepped off a curb weirdly and strained/pulled/hurt the arch of my left foot. I took a few days off from running, and I've been icing, taping, and taking it easy since. My last long run that was supposed to be last Saturday, was shortened to 6 miles. I feel, suddenly, totally unprepared. I wanted to get one last long run in. I wanted to feel awesome and finish with a time that I was proud of. I wanted, I wanted.

Sometimes shit happens. Life is full of setbacks. I was on the verge of freaking out for a couple of days, until Brad reminded me that I want to continue to run for many years, right?

So here's the good news (there's always good news): I'm going to do it anyway. I'm going to show up with my weirdly taped foot and, if it's not 100% better, I'll set my watch for 5:1 intervals, and Galloway this bitch.

And you know? I think I'll still feel proud. Finishing a 13.54 (according to the course map) run, even with a one minute walk break out of every six, is still an accomplishment, something I never thought I would do, ever. I'm going to try to remember that as I eat everyone's dust next Saturday.