Tomorrow is the day. Half marathon starting at 7:30 a.m., 21.1 km. I'm not sure if I've trained enough, followed my running schedule closely enough. Hell, who am I kidding, if I had been following a recipe for chocolate cake, I would now be eating blueberry muffins.
My last run was a week and a half ago, and I ran 19 km. Physically, it was kind of tough, but the hardest part was the conversation in my head:
"Alright, here we go again. Nineteen kilometres. Huh. Really? That's going to take at least 2 hours. This is going to be boor-ing."
"If I make it all the way up Blueberry Hill, it will mean that I will actually be able to finish the half on race day. Wait, what if I get tired and have to stop on the way up this hill? Does that mean I'm going to fail? Yes."
"Okay. If I make it to the little path before Boston Pizza, I'll be done and I can stop running. Wait, I just stopped. And I'm not there yet. Arrgh."
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