Not Really His Bed—A Fold-Out in a Back Room
Well, now it's serious. We leave tomorrow morning for our drive to the coast. Then its pick-up my gear pack including race number, check into our hotel, off to evening Mass, then a fine pasta meal. The end of Daylight Savings allows me a spare hour of sleep, but I won't. The pre-dawn hours bring with them a complicated dance wherein my wife drops me off at a shuttle bus location then goes back to sleep, then finds a parking space and walks to the finish line for my arrival around 5 hours and 30 minutes later.
So that's it. Thirteen years have passed since I prepared to run a marathon. Pain, operations, depression, quitting running for good, stupid injuries when I didn't quit running for good, learning a complex way of covering ground that didn't stress my bad knee. It seems surreal, big. Part of me wants to stay in bed Sunday morning and not race.
But I've come this far. I want to see how it all ends.
