We found a couple of matching envelopes in the mail yesterday…
Two weeks from today, we will be flying to Boston with our golden tickets in hand. The next morning, we will visit the most exciting expo of our lives and pick up the much-coveted race kits and jackets (among countless other paraphernalia).
It still feels rather surreal and I have to keep reminding myself that we are going to Boston. For real. And SOON!
At the marathon clinic last night, a few people asked about tapering, and I found myself thinking: ‘Tapering from what?’ This has been such a different training cycle for me and I often find myself discrediting the work I have done – mileage has been much lower, quality work has been
non-existent minimal. Sure, I have cross-trained like a maniac and have run a lot more than I did for my first several marathons, but it doesn’t feel the same.
I’m not studying the race map, scrutinizing my training and tune up races, printing pace bands, making a race plan and deciding on A, B, C goals. I am planning a fun-filled weekend in an amazing city, perusing the official merchandise catalogue to decide which items I want (all of them), convincing my husband to wear matching outfits… and most of all, reflecting on how far I have come and welling up with pride that I get to run the Boston Marathon.
It took a while, but I eventually gave myself permission to accept where I am right now. I’ve had different goals this year, different priorities taking up my time and energy. I occasionally feel those glimmers of guilt for not training for this with every ounce of my being, and even shame for giving up a lot of the speed I worked for last year. But I always said that if I ever made it, I would set out to enjoy the experience. No pressure, no goals. I worked my butt off to get here and this is the reward. I’m lucky that my speedy speedster husband (with his Wave 1 seeding and 4-digit bib number!) is setting aside his own goals to run with me, so we can share this experience together.
This time last year, hubs and I both thought that just maybe we would have a shot at qualifying. Having done so on the same day blew away our wildest dreams and expectations. And when we ultimately cross that finish line on Boylston Street together (perhaps holding hands), our achievement will be defined by a whole lot more than the numbers showing on the clock.