I’m feeling twitchy; for the last two days I haven’t allowed myself any time to run. This concerns me because I’ve been waking up in a cold sweat with visions of standing at the bottom of a hill and looking up. The hill is something like the ascent of the Rebel Yell roller coaster of my youth.
The rickety carts clatter up that hill for an eternity. I am the rickety cart and the hill – who am I kidding – hills (plural!) I’m clattering up are waiting for me in San Francisco.
In three months I’ll be running the San Francisco Marathon. I’m incredibly excited, nervous, and racked with guilt. Marathon training is a guilty pleasure for me. It takes time; not just a snippet of time here and there when I can afford it. (I don’t want you to think “training for a marathon” in the sense that the winner of the Boston Marathon trains; think instead, “training for a marathon” in the “I’m training to avoid being picked up by the you’re-too-slow bus” sense.) Now, just because I’m training for a marathon I don’t get extra hours in the day. That’s where the guilt comes in. The same 24 hours to accomplish the normal daily craziness of keeping my incredibly well rounded gang fed, clothed, educated, and now, the need to run for hours. Something has to give, right?
It feels very selfish to cut hours out of a day just for me. My to-do list only grows and nothing is getting crossed off. The house is messy and the pantry isn’t stocked. The dinners haven’t been creative, well, Chick-fil-A can feel pretty creative – we all get to pick our own meals!
I don’t think I would have been able to decide for myself that I would sign up for a marathon. I just don’t have time!
Last month when Ken gave me the map of San Francisco with 26.2 miles worth of roads highlighted and the words “for our 20th anniversary” written across it, I didn’t realize the enormity of the gift. He isn’t just giving me a wonderful trip away together for a few days in the summer, he is giving me something just for me . . . even if it means some things have to give.