I went out for a three mile run today and felt a little tweak in my hip. While I was considering if this was a fluke or something to worry about for my upcoming 50K, I remembered that it was during a run at Baker Lake a couple of years ago that I felt the first twinges of a year-long battle with plantar fasciitis that made me cry many times before it finally, SLOWLY healed. This made me obsess that I’d get plantar fasciitis again if I ran at Baker Lake, which made me realize that I was more worried about the upcoming 50K than I’ve admitted to myself–which made me think about how I used to feel at the starting line of my first many marathons: terrified.

As a not-so-naturally athletic person, every time I take a new leap, embrace a new endeavor (like increasing my miles from 26.2 to 31.1), I feel jitters all over again. Unlike many of my runner friends, I don’t do triathlons (yet) because I never learned to swim properly. I rarely go on long bike rides because I’m wobbly and often tip over at stop lights. It’s only due to pit-bull-like tenacity (as opposed to confidence) that I ever finished my first marathon and that I’m quite sure I’ll finish this 50K on October 6.¬† Unlike with swimming or biking, I don’t fear for my life if I’m not a confident runner. I know that the worse case scenario is that I’ll be on the trail for a very, very long time. If I have to crawl the final miles, I can do that.

To all of you who don’t feel up to a task in your life right now, join me in embracing your inner pit-bull.

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