Not like I planned it

Just like it always is. Or at least that's how it always feels -- poor framing or otherwise. I'd like to think that I've outgrown the penchant towards a negative outlook, and frankly, when it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck and shits on your head like a duck, you might benefit from a little perspective, but you've still got shit on your head.

Today's whiny bitch is brought to you by the letter M, for marathon training. And maybe the letter T, for thwarted. It's less than two weeks until the marathon and I'm now sick for the second time in as many weeks. I missed my 20-miler two weeks ago, and had made some adjustments to my training plan to make the best of the remaining time I had, and after a tougher than expected 15 mile run on Sunday, I realized that it was tougher than expected because I was getting sick again.

So I'm back to lowering my expectations for this race. A practice that I feel I am far too familiar. In my original plans, I was gunning for a 3:20 marathon -- a Boston qualifying time for the 40-44 age bracket. It was a stretch goal, but it was a goal. I tempered my expectations, but that plan was pretty much toast when I got bronchitis/sinusitis and was out for 3 weeks in the middle of the summer. By the time I could actually run a decent distance without feeling like complete and total crap, it was the end of August.

So I readjusted my expectations. Dialed it back. And I was actually feeling pretty good a few weeks ago. I had a series of long runs (18-20 miles) that actually felt...GOOD. And then I got sick again. That was 2 weeks ago.

Readjust the expectations. Now shooting for sub-4, maybe even hit 3:40. Try to get the legs back at the end of last week and into the weekend. And here I am again, wondering whether I'll be well enough to even run the race at all.

And I wonder if I'm supposed to learn something from this. If this is some kind of messsage.

Quit.

Accept your limits.

A lack of success doesn't equal failure.

It's the journey not the destination.

But I feel like I've got a pretty good handle on all of that. And I'm sick of it. I'm sick of lowering my expectations. I'm sick of being disappointed. I'm sick of being pragmatic, of trying to look at things with some perspective. I'm tired of giving up and telling myself it's okay.

I said I was going to run a marathon. And I'll probably be pissed if I finish slower than 3:50, but I'd probably be more pissed if I had to keep training for another 6 months so that I could run a marathon next Spring. So goddammit, I'm going to run a fucking marathon, even if I end up running 9s or 10s.

Quit? (Y/N)
N