It's 5:00 am, ok 4:57 but I like nice round numbers. It rolls off the tongue a lot smoother. The air is crisp, the ocean fog is rolling in like a pack of hounds. It's the perfect time for a morning run, the only time, with my hectic schedule the way it is.
There is less than 3 months until the big day, the day I've been training for. I have mixed emotions about it, as it is my first time doing the race. I've been a runner all my life, but I've never tackled a marathon before. I can do it I tell myself. A little over 26 miles, no problem! I do that in my sleep! I do that in my car! I do that...yeah it's definitely a ways to go.
Training is the most important part. Building the discipline, both mental and physical. My body is rippling with muscle contractions, my feet are cursing at me, but I am determined. I was lucky enough to even get into the marathon. I heard 37,000 people tried to get in with only 20,000 spots available. Ha. Nice round numbers.
The road is empty except for an occasional pair of red tail lights staring at me through the fog. I start to build a steady rhythm; I like the sound of my feet hitting the pavement. It cements the fact that I'm here, that I have risen to the occasion, that I am dedicated to the task at hand. There is no ipod today. Just me, the open road, and the sound of my breadth growing quicker and quicker. I figure that as long as I can keep stride with each breadth, I should be alright.
I spot my Goliath, the mammoth of Lombard Street. My body is begging me to turn around, that I'm a fool for even considering the climb. But I insist, I persist. My thoughts flash to Prometheus, carrying that forsaken boulder up his hill and I grow courageous. There is no chip on my shoulder, only the determination to conquer. My muscles feel like exploding, I try hard to keep my focus, to focus on my breadth. One foot in front of the other. If I can conquer this, the marathon will be a piece of cake. The train starts to slow; I don't think I'm even running at this point. It's more of a rebellious crawl, a fight to move onward. Why am I even doing this? I can stop at any time and no one will know. The streets are empty, the marathon won't be this hard. I've made it halfway, that counts for something. No! Keep moving! Fight!
Alas! The top of the hill is mine! At least for this moment, I am king of this hill! I do a victory cha-cha in my head, of course I'm much too exhausted to actually do it. Gotta keep moving. This is just one hill. 15 more miles to go. The crookedest street in the world is empty right now, a rare site in this town. I opt to take the red-brick road instead of the stairs, to give my body a more relaxed pace. The tower looks ominous right now, like it is all that's left of an archaic castle that might have once overlooked the bay.
Race day is growing closer. I'm starting to believe I can actually finish. One breadth at a time, I remind myself. Because there is no finish line.
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