It’s baseball’s opening day. Each year I’m contented by the fact that the lights go on at the Daniel Boone Little League fields up the road from my house, and I can hear the crack of the bats from my deck. It’s one of my favorite sounds of summer.
Speaking of hitting it outta the park…that’s what I want to do with this marathon. I struggled yesterday with an 8 mile run (after 12 miles in the cold rain on Saturday). I was exhausted, and felt my leg muscles dissolve into exhaustion as well. As a runner, I know it will happen, hitting that wall, but it’s no less disheartening when it does. It’s at those low moments when I begin to think “why am I doing this? Clearly the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, this running bullshit!” But I trudge along, slow (seemingly) as molasses in Midwest August heat, willing myself to put one foot in front of the other, and at least pretend to be a runner.
It’s at those moments when I forget that all this running, this real running, day after day after day, is what will get me across that finish line 26 days from now. I’m working really hard to hit this one outta the park, but some days it just feels like I missed an easy pop-fly.