until the Carlsbad Marathon. I am surprisingly calm. Which probably means that I will be hyperventilating at 5 a.m. tomorrow.
I head south to Carlsbad in two hours. E. and Nelson may or may not come with me, as E. just returned at 0400 from a cross-country flight from hell from La Guardia to LAX, in which his flights got delayed, canceled, re-routed, and delayed once again. (Note: Do not fly Delta. You will regret it.)
I'm really looking forward to having an early-evening dinner with Anne and T., a bubbly woman from San Diego who I ran with in the first soggy miles of the Honolulu Marathon last month. And T. said she will run the last six miles of Carlsbad with me.
I feel sorry for her. Maybe I should tape over my mouth so I don't pepper her with expletives in that most difficult part of the race.
The burning question: At what pace should I race? My right foot still twinges with pain when I run (although not when I walk). Originally, Carlsbad was going to be my Boston-qualifier race. But my long though peripatetic training just does not bear that out.
If I were suicidal, I would try to hang with the 3:40 pace group. Going with the 3:50 pace group would qualify as semi-crazy. And were I merely nuts, I could stick with the 4:00 pace group. Hmmmm.
What'll it be?
We'll find out tomorrow.
Over and out.