I am still on a marathon high. Other than one purple toenail that does not hurt, I have fully recovered from the race. I've been on a few runs, and they felt good. The next few months will be all about 5ks, and in January I'll (probably) begin training for marathon #2. Everything is good.
Everything is good.
Everything is good except for this pesky little goal I set for myself back in June. I decided that June and July would be 100 mile months, August and September 120 miles, and then October back down to 100. At the time it seemed so logical, but I've run (including Baltimore) about 65 miles and do not plan on running the rest by Sunday. I need to kill the goal, which involves going to Garmin's website and deleting it after convincing myself that it's okay.
I don't think I've always been a neurotic runner. In high school I ran cross-country for exactly one week. It was hard, so I went back to watching Saved by the Bell reruns in the afternoon while eating large quantities of crackers and a few diet cokes. Somehow, I think my inherent laziness and desire to not have a plan engendered this goal-happy stranger inhabiting my body. Deep down, I'd like to be sitting on the couch eating Cheese-Its or pizza and watching a lot of television, but that person doesn't seem very interesting. In order to not be that person, I have created fairly specific goals without much time in between. Finish a race? Great! What's the next one? It's not just with running, either. I keep myself busy not because I want to be busy but because I don't want people to perceive me as lazy. Training for this last race gave me an awareness of why I set goals and the confidence that I can achieve the goals that I set.
That must mean that I can change a goal that is not appropriate. It's silly of me to stick to a goal that doesn't have value or relevance. I will delete this outdated goal tonight, from the computer and from my brain.