Bib 7181

Coincidence that the same day the Philadelphia Marathon sends out its Here-is-your-bib-number Love Letter to participants, an anonymous individual with a can of black spray paint writes "The Beginning is Near :)" on the wall under the first bridge of a running path I've been traveling steadily since March? I think not.

At 5 days out, with the Expo on the horizon and half of my "Marathon Outfit" laid out on my desk at home, I can't think of anything but the beginning.  What will it feel like, standing there with 12,000 other people, corralled, as the sun comes up over the Art Museum with nerves flying and comfort only a distant, if persistent, memory. And so the thoughts swirl on from places of excitement and doubt and first-day-of-kindergarten-nerves:

Should I wear mittens?
Will it be cold?
When should I get up to eat?
Should I run with water?
Do I really need 4 gels?
Will my family be able to spot me?
Would music help or hurt?
I'm not ready.
I'm not ready.
I'm not ready.

The only calm comes from the few runs I will do in this last week.  A couple fives and a three.  It is during that time, staring at my watch, hearing my feet fall on the same paths, passing the one mile tree and three mile green house, the double bridges, boathouses, metal bridge, rowing cheer zones, falls bridges and so on that I calm down, if even for a moment.  And I answer myself:

Mittens? Really?
You'll be running, no matter what, you'll be sweating.
The same time you've been getting up to eat before long runs for the last 6 months.
Yes. 
Yes.
You have bright red hair.  Yes.
When have you ever run with music?
You will crush this.
You will crush this.
You will crush this.

And with that, I will hold on to every stretch a little longer, breathe in a little deeper and focus on the actual road ahead and leave the "road taken/journey completed" enormity of the moment for the finish line.