I got up, showered, and went through my race routine. I ate a banana and a Zone Bar. I put Band-Aids on my nipples and put anti-chafing cream on the spots that needed it. I started sipping on some Gatorade to top-off my hydration and make sure that I had my fill of electrolytes. I put on my calf-compression sleeves, my running socks and tied my sneakers in a double-knot. Before I knew it, I was in the car and headed to the starting line.
I had no idea how ready I was for this marathon. Having just run NYC three months ago and spending a lot of time in the gym since, I thought I could only improve. The problem was that the weather in New England had just been horrendous the past few months. I have a very low tolerance for running in the cold (otherwise known as "being a wimp.") Most of the time, I just opt for the treadmill instead, where I tend to top out around the 10-mile mark. I don't know if it's boredom, exhaustion, or a mixture of both, but the truth of the matter was the longest run I had done since NYC was 10 miles.
"You are terribly unprepared," my marathon coach advised me. "You'll probably finish, but targeting a pace in this race is not a good idea. Just try to survive."
