Sunday, April 29, 2012

Seven Nights to Rock

I am not a particularly bright fellow. Hell, even when engaged in a monologue I am less than certain that I am the smartest person involved in the conversation. Yet, even a low-wattage bulb like me knows that the fact that today is April's final Sunday means that this time next week shall mark the arrival of May's first Sunday. This year - as was the case last year - May's first Sunday is Marathon Sunday.

My goal this year is what it was last year, which is to complete this task in four hours or less. Last year I choked. I missed my target time by close to thirty minutes. If it is possible to finish a task such as running 26.2 miles when - less than two years earlier doing so would have been impossible - and have one's reaction be profound disappointment, then that is precisely what my reaction was last year. I did not feel as if I had accomplished anything. Rather I felt like I failed. Truth be told, the passage of 51 weeks has done little to move the needle.

The quest this year was one of redemption. When I was a raging drunk I was not a twelve-stepper, preferring instead ultimately to unwedge the bottle from my hand and my head from my ass without the need for "meetings". But as someone who remains a fan of Seinfeld I know courtesy of George Costanza's bulbous head and the neck hole of James Spader's tightly-knit sweater that making amends is Step Nine. Up until approximately thirty days ago, I felt relatively confident that I had a shot at redemption. As race day approaches I feel less so. Pre-race jitters or merely a late-arriving acknowledgment of one's own limitations? I reckon I will be better positioned to answer that question this time next week than I am presently.

One week to go. According to a certain songsmith, on Sunday everybody rocks....

....I sure as hell hope so.


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