"Belief: Builds from scratch; doesn't have to relax; doesn't need space."
On the eve of my first 8 mile run in 6 months, I'm flashing back to the green carpet in the den of the house I grew up in. There, a 4 year old sits playing "Memory" as her mom explains (for the 15th time that afternoon) about the bus ride the next morning that would take the trembling girl, pigtails and all, to her first day of kindergarten. Same. Sinking. Feeling.
Yesterday's 5 mile/45 minute triumph up and over the 30th Street Bridge is the outline of a friendly ghost, recorded on my running wall and, although present and benevolent, utterly without force. Today's workout, all too reminiscent of physical therapy - right down to the standing hamstring stretches.
9 hours before I'll set out down the Path by the river, up and around the metal bridge at the last of the boat houses, I'm questioning carb intake, hydration, outfit choice related to weather and if I'm ready. The only things I'm sure of are the banana and coffee I'll start my day with tomorrow at 4:30AM, the vitamin water I'll drink on the way to the gym and the existence of the butterflies that make the 4 year old in me want to hide.
That being said, I'll get up tomorrow, put on my running clothes in the dark, pull on a knit hat, set my watch and hit the pavement - all based on the purest belief that I've done it before and, by default, will do it again.
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