Monday, July 28, 2014

And you may ask yourself, how did I get here?

Last night I was sitting on the couch with my big-headed little dude, Mozzie, at the end of the highest mileage week of my thirties (49 miles, including 44 in the past 3 days), and I started to cry. Like big, heaving sobs. The kind where you don't even know why you're crying, you're just overwhelmed with feelings. (And then I went to bed at 8pm and was pretty much dead to the world until 6am). I can't even begin to fathom how I got here. How is it possible that I ran so many miles and felt so good both during and after? How am I lucky enough to know so many awesome people who were willing to forgo sleeping in to come run all over the damn place with us?

Now, to a normal person, having just run 75% of the distances we will cover at TransRockies and surviving relatively unscathed would be reassuring. As for me, I'm still nervous. Because it's easy to run when I feel good and I'm having a good time joking about Jen(n)s before mens and "Sun's out, boobs out" and Dr. Drake Amore and The Trails Of Our Lives. But it'll be a different story at high altitude when Pete is running up the mountain like it's nothing and I'm curled up in the fetal position, half hoping a bear will eat me and put me out of my misery (because as a result of a sudden and severe shortage of chocolate milk in Colorado, I have lost the will to live).

So I could do that thing where I imagine the worst and most ridiculous possible outcomes and get myself all worked up about it. Or I could realize that 2 years ago I suffered an injury that took what seemed like forever to heal, and it was agonizing and heartbreaking. And one of the best things that ever happened to me. It finally hit me, at mile 17 on Sunday, that were it not for that stupid injury making me wiser and stronger and infinitely more grateful, I wouldn't be here now, running through the woods with friends, hoping I get to spend the rest of my life doing this.

The truth is it doesn't matter if I struggle or if I'm slow or if I get altitude sickness. Whatever happens, it will be an epic experience, the first of what will hopefully be a lifetime of Pete and Jen's excellent adventures.

Lyric of the moment: "To touch something real will help your wounds heal. Like the sun on your face, the dreams of starry nights. And we are homeward bound. And I, I want this more than life..."

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