The Fear

Okay, I am a bad blogger. I know. But I have a good excuse. Since my last post, I have been keeping a secret from all of you. A secret I was afraid to even admit to myself.

I was scared of Atlanta.

My 11 mile run was horrible. Pure torture. Hot, overwhelming, slow, painful, torture. I walked most of it, dehydrated, sunburnt, and miserable. I knew Atlanta wouldn't be hot, but it would have hills, something that's completely foreign to Florida runners unless you like to run bridges (no thanks).

I had told myself for so long that I would take Atlanta seriously, train hard, get ready, and face it for the amazing opportunity it was: to go back to the city I loved as a child, to run a half marathon with my best friend, and to push myself as hard as I could. But I was scared to death that I couldn't make it happen; that I would once again disappoint myself.

And you know what? I didn't.

I got a PR instead. 2:59:11. I broke the 3 hour mark. And it feels so damn good!