I should be delighted.
It takes 9 races and a volunteer event to qualify -- that's a lot of ghastly Sunday mornings.
But I am conflicted. Am I really going to manage it this year?
I decided to bow out last year -- not exactly gracefully -- in the middle of a 19-mile training run. I was trotting down the boardwalk at Coney Island, and had an unexpected epiphany, in the shape of a taco.
I was passing the stand that does lovely soft corn tortillas with homemade hot sauce, fresh lime, and cotija cheese.
"Screw this." I thought. "Gel packs are the work of Satan. I want a taco."
I sat and munched the taco. I watched the waves. I thought for a bit. I had twisted my ankle and missed the first 4 weeks of training. I had a lot going on at work. I just wasn't ready. Sometimes, quitting is the smart thing to do.
"I'm knackered, I want a bath, and I want to see my boys."
So I got the bus home. And that was that.
What with one thing and another (work, boys, sleep, life, breathing), it has become harder to keep running marathons of late. I know I need to. Without that big, scary goal, there is no way I will get out of bed at 5:30 am to get 8 miles in. Who the hell would?
To run, or not to run?
That is the question.