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It was early, not yet even 6:30. The small, three-by-three, blue port-a-potty was nearly pitch black on the inside. Bib #6764 could see a flash of light seeping through the crack that linked her port-a-potty with the port-a-potty next door. She swiveled her head around to see if there was a light switch, but couldn’t see one. Dammit, she thought, why didn’t she bring her headlight? As she pulled her shorts up, careful not to touch a thing around her, the advertisement for Method anti-bacterial, all-natural cleaner, posted to the inside door, seemed to mock her. And yet, aside from being one of the dirtiest places on earth, the port-a-potty felt almost like a safe haven for her, saving her from the cold rain pounding down outside, and from the hordes of excited and nervous people filling up the 4:15 corral. She could stay there all day, she thought, surely […]

Oh man, if my legs could race as fast as my mind has been racing today, I’ll be golden on Sunday! Pretty much, from the second I woke up, my brain was on. And on the car ride in I kept thinking: Did I remember my shoes? Oh no, did I forget my ipod armband? Oh crap, is that another ache? Dear Marathon Gods, please be kind to me, please, I beggeth you. I’m not sure six hours in a car is the smartest thing to do before a 42.2 km race, but I tried to take all precautions to ensure my body would hopefully be in tip top shape race day: I drank non-stop water, which caused me to have to use the washroom an awful lot, which resulted in me having to get out of the car and stretch out, which did my body a world of good

Thank heavens! For the first time I finally felt some excitement for the marathon yesterday! Instead of those damn demons that have been waging a hellish war in my belly for over a week now, I had beautiful sunshiny butterflies taking over, their excited wings flapping and fluttering all about. And I would have loved to have told you all about it yesterday, but I couldn’t; my computer was kidnapped. That’s right, kidnapped! The annual Real Man’s Hockey Pool took place last night, and for the first time since Mario (the organizer) and I started dating, the Luongo Lovers (formerly known as the Cute Clouts) had to bow out. But apparently, my computer was not allowed to. It was probably for the best though, I mean I DID just win the Real Man’s Playoff Pool, I’ve got to give the so-called “real” men a chance to win, it just wouldn’t

Okay seriously, this marathon cannot come soon enough. I had quite the traumatic morning this morning that had me all curled up on the bathroom floor (good thing I just cleaned it!) in between bouts of, uhm, “washroom issues,” and head-between-the-knees nausea, and full-on body sweats. I couldn’t stand up, not even hunched over, and I could barely even sit up. At first I thought I had food poisoning, then I thought, oh crap, I got the flu, but then, after awhile, I realized, nope it wasn’t any of the above, it was just another lovely extension of this damn stress I’ve been enduring all bloody week! Seriously, this is getting a bit tiresome already. And you know, freaking out is one thing when it’s in your head, but my god when it has you running to the washroom faster than you’ve ever run before all hunched over at like

Okay, I am officially freaking out. My stomach is in knots, my throat is churning, my self-doubt is in overdrive. And I know, I know, I had this thing called a backup plan in the works, but when everyone else around me is filling up their taper down with at race pace runs, and I’m left stuck to the couch with my leg straight up in the air, compressed and iced to the nines, because I’m too damn chicken to go out for a run, how can I not be fretting in overdrive? Seriously? I know I’m not going out there looking for a super speedy time, but I did train for a 4:15, and now I look at that race pace pace and I think holy smokes how am I going to run that? Crud. Crud. Crud. Stupid knee! On the upside, though, I’m not alone. I know I