I looked strikingly similar to the tin man without his can of oil that day. It was a few weeks back, my longest run at this point, my 20 miler. Miles 1-16 were a breeze; shifting quickly to agony.
And today, I have pre-marathon anxiety. It will be my first marathon. I feel comfortable as I type this, sitting in a warm and comfortable in Starbucks, exactly three days out from the NYC marathon. I am sipping my coffee, pondering that feeling of mile 21. I know as I reach this mile mark I will calculate the remaining mileage as if I did not just do this throughout mile 20. We do these things as runners. We calculate our pace per mile, half marathon, half of a half marathon. Even when a running clock accompanies a mile marker, we calculate. We calculate last years pace at this point, the past five years bests and worst, averaging them out. We add, subtract, divide over and over, stride after stride, mile after mile.
But as I sit here, all warm and cozy, I cannot feel that feeling of discomfort. I can remember, prepare, visualize, but I cannot feel it. I know how I felt at 19 on my 20 miler. The tin man in desperate need of some oil. But I somehow found the strength to finish. I believe that strength still exists. That I can feel.
