The day that I did my half marathon, I climbed aboard a bus that took me 21.1km away from the finish line in a very unfamiliar city. In February. I was... nervous.
As I looked around, pretending to be cool while listening to my music, I saw legs. Lots and lots of long lean legs. Tall people with long legs. And I felt oddly out of place.
Lots of people who run as much as I do would be very very lean. I had my body fat tested this week and while I came in smack in the healthy middle (26.6%), I can't help thinking that a quarter of me is fat. Pure fat.
Due to the first couple nice days of the summer yesterday and today, I have spent more time in a bikini this week than in years. And while I'm fairy comfortable in my backyard and probaby at a beach where I didn't know anyone, there's uh, room for improvement.
I'm not talking about stretch marks or elasticity. But there's a spare tire. I twisted and turned and pinched and grabbed today in front of the mirror and I think that 5-10lbs off would elliminate it.
So many people warn about trying to lose weight while running distances, but surely if I cut out the obvious things, like stolen cookies in the afternoon or ketchup (I have an unhealthy love of ketchup) and other empty calories consumed, I wouldn't risk the race.
Maybe I'm a little scared too. I've done more in the past three years than I ever thought I could, quite honestly. But I've been here at this level for going on seven months. Do I have it in me to take it to the next level?
I'm telling myself yes.