Let the taper begin.
I figured that my inaugural blog post (wrought with misspellings I am certain) will be about my love/hate relationship with….The Taper. For the past 488 days (or so it seems) I’ve been slogging away running mile after (sometimes) glorious mile building a solid base to run my 4th marathon. (Marine Corps Baby OOORAH!) Hot humid runs, hills that would make a Sherpa cringe. Hamstrings so tight, strumming the opening chords of “Stairway to Heaven” would not be at all out of the question. And miles. Miles with a side of miles. Big steaming cups of miles. (Did I mention the miles?) I ran them all. And what happens now? What happens now you ask? I taper. I cut back. I rest more. Chill. Sit. Paws up. No long early morning weekend run. Nope. Nosireee. Not me.
This is the point in marathon training that is 10% physical and 1,000,000% mental. (See? That doesn’t make sense either.) I’m running 26.2 miles in two weeks and next Sunday I have to run 8? EIGHT. How do you suppose I run 26.2 miles if in all my new found spare time I’m catching up on missed Bravo episodes of RHONJ instead of RUNNING? Totally counterintuitive. (I’m getting twitchy typing this.) I get antsy. And sore. In places that weren’t sore. Like ever. If I had a bowl of Xanax I’d be popping them like altoids. And yet, my body needs this. Badly. It’s tired. My legs today were tuckered. It’s time to trust the process. Muscles have memory. They’ll know what to do when I line up on race day. My inner monologue however needs a bitch slap. Chill Colby. You’ve earned it. Listen to your body. Honor it. Breathe in and out. You got this. You’re there. Now sit still for just one goddamn minute…..
It’s gonna be a long-ass two weeks.