I’ve been awake for an hour – partially due to 120oz of water yesterday, but mostly due to the Falmouth Road Race.

My head hurts.

My legs feel like wood.

My stomach is in an uproar.

All I want to do is go back to bed and sleep until noon.

I have to keep reminding myself how much I love this race and what a great training run it will be.

The truth is, I’m nervous.  I get nervous before every race and have no logical explanation for it.  I know that I’m not going to win.  I know that I won’t have any trouble finishing.  I know that my pace will be somewhere between 7:50 and 9:10 depending on weather and crowd, and I know that by tonight I’ll be thinking about how I could have done better.

If this was any other Sunday – if I was meeting Keith and Rick in a few minutes – I’d be planning to run anywhere from 12-16 miles this morning, and distance wouldn’t be a factor.

When it comes to a race, distance is all I can think about.

I’m visuallizing the first crowded uphill mile, the hill to Nobska, the rolling hills afterwards.

I’m thinking about Surf Drive and how it’s always longer than I think it should be.

I can picture the Marina and passing the 6-mile mark, where for the first time my parents won’t be there to cheer me on.

I’m reminding myself how long that last mile really is and how it’s two hills instead of one big one.

I can see that finish line, with the huge American flag.

After the finish line, I start my long, crowded walk around the block to the water and food area.

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OK, for some reason, I feel better now.  When I started writing this post, I was a wreck.  Now, I can’t wait to get out the door and get over to Falmouth.