I made the mistake of checking the calendar yesterday and counting the weeks until my 5K. I have five left to go. In some ways, that seems like forever. In others, it feels like the day after tomorrow.
Now the butterflies in my stomach are doing jumping jacks. (Can butterflies do jumping jacks? Maybe they're doing somersaults. Either way, it's darn uncomfortable!) I'm starting to get scared. The ol' "What the h@$% was I thinking?" recording is playing on a loop, with occasional commercial interruptions for Everything That Can Go Wrong.
The logical side of my brain is putting up a valiant fight, reminding me that I can, in fact, do this. I walk 5K at least once a week. (Twice this week!) There is no reason to think I won't be able to walk 5K on Thanksgiving morning.
But my irrational side is loud and persistent, like that pesky little child who insists on interrupting every single one of Mom's conversations. I know in five weeks I'll be able to turn to that pesky little child and say, "HA! I told you I could do it!" but first, I have to get through the next five weeks.
Now the butterflies in my stomach are doing jumping jacks. (Can butterflies do jumping jacks? Maybe they're doing somersaults. Either way, it's darn uncomfortable!) I'm starting to get scared. The ol' "What the h@$% was I thinking?" recording is playing on a loop, with occasional commercial interruptions for Everything That Can Go Wrong.
The logical side of my brain is putting up a valiant fight, reminding me that I can, in fact, do this. I walk 5K at least once a week. (Twice this week!) There is no reason to think I won't be able to walk 5K on Thanksgiving morning.
But my irrational side is loud and persistent, like that pesky little child who insists on interrupting every single one of Mom's conversations. I know in five weeks I'll be able to turn to that pesky little child and say, "HA! I told you I could do it!" but first, I have to get through the next five weeks.