At the beginning of the summer I started doing hopscotch over the idea of doing a marathon with a group of sarcastic-ass runners appropriately self proclaimed "BAMF". These folks were from all around the nation brought together by their passion for races, beer and ridiculous pillow fights. We all signed up, booked a hotel and started doing the Carlton... *snap, shimmy, shimmy, snap*
|Boys keep showing up in my yard - something about milkshakes??|
Fast forward a few months.... the dust has settled and we are now 3 weeks away from launch. I experienced what every athlete will come to know at some point in their athletic career - a time when life gets in the way.
First priority was trying to make my new business successful (still working on it) - second to that was training for my first 70.3 (winning) - and falling in last was trying to get up to running 20 something miles without a pair of wheelies or a jet pack. But during my run yesterday it hit me... Crap, I can't afford a damn jet pack.
The little nugget saying "you're not ready, get ready already" had finally grown into "you've run out of time". And with great enlightenment comes an anxiety attack, I'm going to disappoint. If you're not a robot or giant bag of douche you know that disappointment is the worst of all guttural feelings (second only to chipotle). But once I let it sink through my bowels and accepted that I was going to have to relax and let it pass, I felt a little lighter. We informed the authorities of our descent into "training smart" and with that it was done. There was sad emoticons and talk of a serious crew disbanding but nothing that would end friendships or cause a random french guy to say "fire ze missiles". It came down to the simple fact that I would get my 70.3 medal, but the 26.2 bling and the BAMF flashmob would just have to wait....