I had most of an explanation to yesterday’s brief post composed, but I deleted it. It felt cathartic as I typed it. It even likened my marathon journey to Mt. Everest in an impressive display of metaphor. Upon review, however, I couldn’t find any redeeming qualities in it. It turns out that hitting “delete” on that 1,000+ word whine was even more emotionally cleansing than writing it in the first place.
It comes down to this — I’m exceptionally nervous about Sunday. I could justify the doubts that haunt me (“I don’t know if I can do this!”) as healthy respect for a distance that has gotten the better of me before. I could even say that I have a good reason to be paranoid that the 40% chance of thunderstorms will somehow be translated into another case of event cancellation. After the MB disappointment, I’d say, can you blame me?
Well. I’d blame me. While I don’t know that I’ll ever be the type of person to “puke sunshine,” as my husband so-colorfully puts it, I really don’t want to be the kind of person who seeks out and revels in negativity, either. How I respond to situations really is a choice, so I’m going to try hard to respond optimistically…er, more optimistically than I have been lately. That is…change my “aughs” to “okays” if I can’t convert them all the way to “yays.” That’s seems possible, and possibly even beneficial.
So…where before I’d say:
“Augh!!! The marathon! I can’t do this!”
Now I’ll try to say:
“Okay. The marathon. It’s going to be hard, but I’ve been working for this. I can do it.
“Augh!!! 40% chance of thunderstorms? Lightning could mean a cancelled race, right? Nooooo! The universe is against me! I hate marathons!”
“Okay. Really, Megan? A 40% chance? Predicted 5 days in advance? It’s too early to freak out. IF it rains, it could be in the afternoon. IF it rains, it could just be rain and not lightning. And even IF there is lightning, they may delay the race for the storm to pass. I repeat — chill out.”
“Augh!!! If I don’t finish, I’m not going to run anymore. That’s it. Time to hang up the shoes.”
“Okay. Take a deep breath. Nobody wants to see another DNF, but you’re light years smarter about this distance and even in better fitness than you were last year. You have ME to help you and you can always walk if you need to.”
Okay! I don’t know if I can do this, but…
I think I can?
I think I can.
I think I can!