Sunday I was supposed to run the Portland Marathon. I paid for the privilege, I kind of trained for it, I made the commitment, but I did not follow through. I made up a bunch of excuses at the last minute and bailed on my commitment. "Soy un perdedor" I'm a loser baby, why don't ya' kill me.
I probably shouldn't be beating myself up over this. I know I can finish a marathon and this was going to turn into a "no time goal" marathon. I was under trained and had no chance of a Boston qualification or "personal best". I could have driven down to Portland, hauled my ass out of bed at an ungodly hour, made the trek to the start in a pouring rain, froze my ass off waiting for the start, and then trudged along at something close to a sub-4 hour time (which would have been my slowest marathon of all times), crossed the finish line, and got my medal and finishers shirt. I could have then limped my shivering, cold, glycogen depleted, cramping muscled, barely alive body back to the hotel room to get showered so I could limp my way to the nearest bar to drown the pain in a heavy internal alcohol rub.
Yeah, I really shouldn't be beating myself up. But damn, I'm not a quitter and I am having a lot of trouble dealing with this whole quitting thing. I'm going to sign up for the Seattle Marathon, to be run in late November, and see if I can't redeem my sorry ass.
A little guilt? Maybe?
Until next time.