—

Two days out.

I keep walking into rooms and forgetting why I went in there. That’s how I know the nerves have moved in.

Yesterday I tried to build a 24 hour playlist of songs between 160 and 175 BPM, which is my standard cadence. I made it to 16 hours before I ran out of music in that range. Weird Al sits next to Taylor Swift. The Misfits hand off to Darius Rucker. A dozen genres across six decades, all hitting roughly the same beat. It’ll be on and off as the road dictates. If I drop into a flow state I’ll turn it off and listen to the world for a while. If I’m working harder than I want to, I’ll use the music to hold cadence. If I end up in the pain cave, I’ll switch to an audiobook and let someone else’s story carry me through mine.

Today we pack the car. Peggy is on crew, and she’s also handling the packing list for Ripley, our four month old puppy who has been promoted to assistant crew on the basis of enthusiasm alone. I am, somehow, thinking about the puppy’s packing list more than my own. She has snacks, a bed, a backup bed, toys, a coat in case it gets cold, and a small wardrobe of contingencies.

I have shoes.

To be fair, I also have everything else I need. I just hate long packing lists and would rather think about the dog. My gear has been quietly ready for weeks. The puppy is the interesting problem.

We’re driving up tomorrow morning to grab a good spot and sleeping in the Buzz.

I’m pretty sure I’ll hit 50K. What happens after that feels unimaginable from where I’m standing, and absolutely fucking impossible from where I was three or four years ago. Back then I hated running. I took it up in response to the death of my daughter. After the New York City Marathon I knew I’d keep going until I hit a wall I couldn’t get over. I haven’t hit it yet. Younger me wouldn’t have believed any of this. Younger me also wouldn’t have believed the puppy.

One thing is going with me that goes with me to every race that matters. A bracelet with some of my daughter’s ashes in it. It’s a little too tight to wear every day, so it mostly waits. I wore it in New York for my first marathon. I’ll wear it or carry it on Saturday.

Two fears are sitting next to each other right now, holding hands like creepy twins in a hallway. One is that I yield at 10 hours, which would still be ultra distance, but would feel like quitting. The other, slightly smaller fear is that I don’t yield when I should and end up doing something genuinely stupid out there. I have not pre-decided a cutoff. I’ll figure it out on the course, probably while talking to a tree.

I’ll be running with myself, for myself, and against myself. My best teammate, my best coach, and my worst critic. All three are coming and none of them shut up.

Two days. Shoes on. Puppy packed. Bracelet on the wrist. Let’s see what’s out there.