As promised, I am on the train to New York, and as expected, I am feeling less-than-confident about what Sunday will even look like.

Marathon day will hit exactly three weeks after Army Ten, and the ankle is doing much better since my post about that mistake. I haven’t run of course – except for a few experimental steps to catch a light or the bus. It’s been rainy this week so I’ve felt some aches and pain as pressure changes. And sometimes in the morning, especially heading down the stairs first thing, I feel it. But otherwise it’s been much quieter since those first terrible days after Army Ten.

Yesterday I went to see my poor, downtrodden, sick-of-me orthopedist. He poked at and pressed on my ankle from different angles and it felt fine. He stared at me incredulously, did the expected head-shaking and eye-rolling, shot down my witch doctor suggestions like PRP injections, and reluctantly gave his blessing for Sunday.

I asked about the best way to approach race day: run a few miles and walk one, do the whole thing really slow, run as far as I could to put mileage behind me before walking the rest? His advice was to just run it at a slow jog and try to keep a light pace. He did not support a walk-run approach as changing it up like that could be too unpredictable on it.

So that’s the plan. Go out slow and easy and light. I’m aiming for something in the 9s I guess, without any expectation that I’ll maintain that pace for 26 miles. I still want to at least go out under a 10 average to buy myself enough room if I have to, to walk the last couple (or dozen). I’ve got six and half hours to get through the course – which means I need to average about 14 minutes/mile to avoid getting swept up by the bus. I’m going out in the sub-elite group of Wave 1 (isn’t that funny?) so that at least buys me maximal course time to get this thing done. (Though it won’t win my any friends or admirers in that corral.)

People always describe endurance sports as being as much a mental  challenge as physical. The mental aspect is there in every race for sure, but with training and in good health, unless we’re talking Ironman, I’d say the physical  obstacles overshadow the mental – at least for me being mostly young(ish) and healthy(ish).

Not Sunday.

Sunday is going to be a brain game. My mind over the weakness of my matter. (Mind over marrow? Man I wish I hadn’t gotten all those concussions now.) I’ve got my music ready to go which will help. I’ve added some good stuff to the mix, but really a lot of it will come down to the Hamilton soundtrack. I haven’t let myself listen to it for a few weeks, hoping a little auditory denial will pay off when Aaron Burr drops the beat come race day. (No pressure Lin Manuel-Miranda, but my marathon basically lives and dies with you. [My marathon has its eye on you? Fellow musical theatre nerds?])

(Mostly) joking about that. (Mostly.) But seriously, I am so out of my mind (truly, see below) disappointed. I was so excited about the opportunity to do this race. It’s been a dream. And healthy Liz was minutes off a BQ eighteen months ago – it should have been no problem this weekend. I’m consistently and securely and comfortably pulling mid-7s, and I’ve worked really hard to get here, and year after year, fall marathon after fall marathon, it comes to nothing.

Over the last few weeks I’ve experienced waves of sadness – of regret – and I haven’t even crossed the start line.  Why does my body continue to let me down?

I keep asking myself what I could have done better or differently. The answer is really nothing. My worn out ortho went over my dexascan (bone density test) results with me and turns out they actually are not normal like I was told by the lab. I’ve got a density issue, and likely osteopenia in my ankles. He is hopeful though that work with my nutritionist will help, and wants me to see an endocrinologist too who can maybe get my body to absorb calcium and vitamin D correctly. Women have till age 35 to maximize bone density before it heads downhill – and as today is my 32nd birthday, the clock is ticking. (Why does no one believe my that I’m 29?!)

I’ve mentioned my pity parties before, and spent some previous blog time wallowing. No real updates on that except it gets worse as race day approaches. Also, now that Walking Dead is back, I have a new healthy thought: that my broken ankles are going to cost me my life in the inevitable zombocalypse. I’m pretty concerned about it. (Maybe, in a brilliant twist of undead, multi-sport irony, my bike will save me.)

As I stress about keeping my brain un-et, and envy the orthopedic fortitude (fortho-tude?) of every casual morning jogger I encounter, I swear to you dear reader (hi Mom!) that I’m never too far from the actual reality of my situation. I am alive, and mostly healthy, and I have a helluva husband who is sitting right next to me (literally at the moment and always figuratively). (And I’ve gotten made bday love on FB today – the true measure of support in one’s life! Thanks y’all! [I kid, but really, thank you!])

Here’s what’s most important though: I‘m running this weekend in memory of one of the most important friends I will ever have. My birthday twin, inspiration in all things fashion and attitude, solemate (yes that’s how I mean to spell that), the woman for whom my beloved Birkin is named, passed away two years and three days ago.

I can’t tell you how many hearts daily break remembering that she’s left us. I can tell you though that my friends and hers, and her amazing family, have helped to raise over $3400 in Mo’s memory, all going to the incomparable Gilda’s Club where it will be put to good use assisting people still battling that bastard cancer.

So that’s the real mental challenge of Sunday. Remembering every (likely painful) step that it’s not about me. I’m just the one who’s lucky enough to be on the course. And maybe at the end I’ll get something pretty and shiny to show for it. Mo would like that.