The boys were away this weekend with their dad. I try to plan something, at least one thing, for when they are away because otherwise, well. I was glad to have my second race to look forward to, even though it rained all night and it was still pouring when I got up. I very briefly considered not going. But I knew I would regret it if I didn’t, so I went.
The rain let up a little but never stopped completely and even when I ran through a puddle and my left foot was soaking wet and my right foot just mostly wet, and my stomach started to hurt a little (the fish soup from lunch the day before or a little too much bran cereal in the morning?), it was still pretty cool to be running as fast as I could along the banks of the Brenta River, its muddy waters flowing on one side of the route and monumental Venetian villas standing proudly on the other. And so the pep talk in my head began, “You can totally do this! You are a total bad ass!”
It took some persuasion before I actually believed it. This race was much smaller than the one before, and most of the runners were really, really good. Whereas last time I spent a lot of the race passing people, which indeed will make you feel like a total bad ass, this time I spent the first 15 or so kilometers being passed by others. That and the rain made it sort of demoralizing, until the very end of course, when, no matter how far I’ve run, I always feel really, really good, tougher than I ever do under any other circumstances, like I am made of nothing but adrenaline and strength, and I rock those last 300 meters or so, and then, before I’ve even caught my breath, I wonder why I thought it was so hard, anyway. I am walking on air and before I even know my time, I am convinced I could have done it faster, and better, that’s how bad ass I am, and I can’t wait to try again.
In the end, it turned out that I did better this time around than the last, and I’ve already picked my next one. It’s a month away.