Now, I hadn’t looked at irunfar’s race preview, so I’d been blissfully unaware I wasn’t a factor in the race until my friend wrote me. And I was torn between gratitude for my friend’s thoughtfulness, and a bit of distress. Being written out entirely gnawed at my confidence. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to pull together a good run despite my training. Maybe I would struggle with asthma again. Maybe it was time to take up macramé.
It was too foolish a worry to really talk to anybody about. And I couldn’t find a genuinely funny way to write about it. My attempts mostly sounded like a petulant 3 year-old saying, “I don’t care!”
Luckily life was too full, and I was too tired by the time Saturday rolled around to give the prediction much more thought.
In fact, my biggest challenge Saturday night was peeing in the plastic packet pickup bag in the back of my rental car. (How’s that for a “Tune in tommorrow!” cliffhanger?)
PS. Dear irunfar,

I love you, and I’m grateful for your work as all trail runners should be.

Also:

You were both wrong and right in your prediction. Hoping to keep you guessing for a few more years.
Liza Chicken Arms Howard