The Question

When you send “update” e-mails to thousands of people, you better expect about that many people to ask you how training is going. Well hi-dee, I guess I can’t remember every person on that list because I was taken totally off guard yesterday at our first, and only, lacrosse scrimmage. Of all places, I consider the lacrosse field—my one actual place of current work—somewhere I can get away from my worries, eh? Since I do nothing all day but wait for lacrosse practice, I may or may not dwell upon the fact I haven’t been training at full tilt and have no idea how Marathon Monday is going to pan out and wonder what I will do if I start hurting at Mile 2 and then have to humiliatingly walk the rest of the 26.2 miles. So, it’s nice to think practice will help me forget these things. Well, not so. And I had to consider how to answer “The Question” on my toes, without any forewarning, to someone I didn’t even know had been following my progress. Good to know people are listening though!

“The Question” is, of course, benign, simple, direct, and probably offered as a polite conversation starter: “How’s training?” The problem with this question is there are at least twelve possible angles of attacking the answer. Do you mean the running part? The stretching? The hydration? The nutrition? The equipment? The weather? The program? The motivation? The time? If I had any idea about where to start, I guess the answer would come more easily. But I think I took ten seconds to even look my friend in the eye to start considering what to say. Do I talk about my injury (how boring and pathetic)? Do I just lie and say it’s all going to plan? Does she really want to know? Because this question was the last one I expected, I just blurted out a mix of answers and promptly changed the subject.

Some people, and I even know a few of “these” people, know how to answer the Question at any given time. But cripes, I don’t even know if I would consider what I am currently doing training anyway. I am sort of biding my time, resting my legs, icing them, stretching them, and wondering if (read: praying and hoping) they will make it through the race. I really want that finisher’s medal though, so I’ll probably just crawl if I have to. I'll be the girl the police drag on to the sidewalk because I'm taking so long to finish they have to open the roads again. That would definitely be on tv. But I will get that medal, dammit.